


Stan Pines, Farmhand

by The Last Speecher (HeidiMelone)



Series: Stanley McGucket [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pregnancy, Stanley McGucket AU, Trans Fiddleford H. McGucket, fiddauthor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiMelone/pseuds/The%20Last%20Speecher
Summary: Thrown out of his home, young Stanley Pines struggles to get by, until a kind husband and wife offer him a steady job and a place to stay...  Where does he go, after getting his high school diploma?  How do things work out for the Jersey boy turned Arkansas farmhand?(Missing scenes from "Stanley McGucket", as well as what happens after.)





	1. Change of Plans

**Summer 2012 – Gravity Falls, Oregon**

“Everything I’ve worked for, everything I care about, it’s all for this family!” Stan shouted pleadingly. Four pairs of eyes, three brown and one blue, stared at him in various amounts of disbelief. 

“Mabel, what if he’s lying?” Dipper shot back. “This thing could destroy the world! Listen to your head!” Mabel looked back and forth between Stan and Dipper, clearly devastated. 

_I fucked up. I fucked everything up. My niece shouldn’t have to make a decision like this, she’s only twelve!_ Stan looked into his niece’s eyes, the same brown that his were. 

“Look into my eyes, Mabel. You really think I’m a bad guy?” He focused on Mabel’s face, not looking at any of the others in the room. He didn’t think he could stomach looks of betrayal from so many people all at once. 

“He’s lying! Shut it down, now!” Dipper screamed. Stan’s heart broke.

_He doesn’t trust me. But Mabel still might._

“Mabel, please!” The countdown continued, as everyone stared at Mabel, her hand hovering over the shutdown button.

“Grunkle Stan…” she began slowly. She lifted her hand away and let go, floating upward. “I trust you.” 

“Mabel, are you crazy? We’re all gonna-” With a shudder, and a flash of light, the portal turned on, cutting off Dipper’s shout. 

_After all this time, I finally did it._ Stan kept his eyes open as the world turned a bright white. _Everything I’ve done, it all led up to this…_

 

**May 1971 – Gumption, Arkansas**

“McGucket residence, Fiddleford speakin’.”

“Fiddleford, yer Pa and I are bringin’ home a farmhand,” his ma said abruptly. Fiddleford frowned and leaned against the wall, playing with the phone cord.

“I thought that ya were lookin’ fer a college that’d take Angie.”

“There’s been a change of plans. We found a homeless young man instead. Make sure ya clear out a room fer him, okay? We want him to feel welcome.”

Fiddleford rubbed the back of his neck.

 _Just like my folks to drop a huge surprise without warnin'. I love 'em, but Lord, Ma and Pa should start plannin' other things than what crops to plant._

“Okay. Can ya tell me somethin’ ‘bout him?”

“His name is Stanley Pines.”

“Stanley Pines,” Fiddleford repeated, instinctively trying to figure out if he knew any relatives of this person. He stopped himself abruptly.

_He ain’t from Gumption. Ya won’t know anyone he’s related to._

“We picked him up in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. He’s a city boy, so he’ll need to be taught how to be a proper farmhand.”

“I think we can do it.”

“I _know_ ya can. We’ll be back tomorrow. Love ya.”

“Love ya, too.” Fiddleford hung up the phone.

_A homeless man that Ma and Pa want to be a farmhand? That’s a bit unconventional._ He shook his head. _Don’t matter. All I gotta do is what Ma said. Make sure he feels welcome._ He walked toward the staircase. 

“Lute, Angie! Get down here!” he called. 

“Why?” Angie shouted back. “Lute and I are busy."

“Busy doin’ what?”

“We’re playin’ cards.”

“Get yourselves down here ‘fore I make ya,” Fiddleford retorted. Within a couple seconds, his younger siblings thundered down the stairs. They came to a sudden stop in front of him. He looked them over.

_Geez, I wish I had someone a bit more responsible to help me out. Lute and Angie can’t seem to focus on much of anything. No, be kinder, Fiddleford. They’re just kids._ Lute raised an eyebrow.

“So what’s goin’ on, Fidds?”

_Don’t call them that, though. They’d probably hide yer banjo again._

“Ma and Pa had a change of plans.”

“So they aren’t lookin’ fer new crops?” Angie asked. 

_That’s right, Ma and Pa didn’t tell the young’uns what they were really doing._

“Nope. They’re bringin’ home a farmhand.”

“A farmhand?” Lute asked.

“Yep. His name’s Stanley, and he’ll be livin’ with us.” Angie and Lute exchanged a look.

“Who exactly is this ‘Stanley’?” Angie asked, putting the name in air quotes. 

“Someone Ma and Pa picked up off the street, to be honest.” Angie’s eyes widened.

“Whoa, that’s sweet!” Lute said. He looked at Angie. “Ain’t it?”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” she replied slowly. “But aren’t Ma an’ Pa in New Jersey? I thought folks from there were rude.”

“That just makes it more interestin’,” Lute said cheerfully. “Imagine the contrast! The juxtaposition!”

“The large words yer usin’ to show off,” Angie said, elbowing Lute. Fiddleford groaned.

_Goldarn, these two are going to be the death of me._ He clapped his hands, grabbing their attention again.

“Focus!” Fiddleford snapped.

“We are!” Lute and Angie said in sync.

“It don’t seem like it.” He took a deep breath. “Now, Ma and Pa said we needed to clear out a room fer Stanley, so we need to figure out who of Violynn, Basstian, and Harper is willing to give up their room.”

“Dibs!” Lute shouted. He rushed off to the phone. Fiddleford turned to Angie.

“See if ya can clean up the guest room a bit.” Angie crossed her arms.

“And what are you goin’ to do?” 

“Go shoppin’.” Angie groaned. 

“Fine,” she said, and walked toward the guest room. Fiddleford headed toward the front door, picking up his car keys from the bowl nearby. As he opened the door, he spared a thought for this “Stanley”.

_I hope he doesn’t have trouble fitting in with us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hoecakes everyone, I'm back! Happy Halloween, everyone! I know I said I wasn't going to start posting this fic until _after_ I finished "In Another World" but I'm impatient and wanted to give everyone a Halloween treat. I know this isn't much, but hey, it's something, right? An appetizer before we dig into the good stuff. And boy, do I have some really good stuff planned.  
>  But anyways, I'm not sure when the next chapter will go up. I really want to finish up "In Another World" before January 1, so this fic may take a bit of a backseat. Rest assured, however, that "Stan Pines, Farmhand" will probably be updated more regularly than "In Another World". I'm excited to bring new content and hear what everyone thinks, so let me know. Are you excited? I know I am!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	2. The Youngest Three

**May 1971 – Gumption, Arkansas**

When Fiddleford McGucket first saw Stanley Pines, something in him broke.

Their new farmhand looked intimidated by the farm, by his family, and was far too young to have been on the streets. He looked to be about Lute’s age. Fiddleford suddenly noticed the lone duffel bag Stanley was holding tightly.

_Is that it? All of his belongings are in there? Dear Lord._

Fiddleford tried not to noticeably have uneven breathing. At the sound of the truck pulling into the driveway, there had been a mad dash for the door. Lute, like usual, had decided to be overly competitive and even shoved Angie into the wall. Fiddleford had stopped to make sure his younger sister was all right, but because he stopped to check on her, she beat him outside. 

_‘Course she would play possum like that._ He was not pleased that his younger, shorter siblings were apparently more in shape than he was. _Lute, sure. He’s athletic. But Angie? All she ever does is ride horses and go creek stompin’._ Ma spoke.

“Only the youngest three are here right now,” she said. Fiddleford tried to not let his displeasure show. Technically, it made sense for him to be lumped with Angie and Lute, but in his heart, he wasn’t a youngest anything. 

_As the oldest, I should say somethin’._

“You must be Stan,” he said. In his peripheral vision, he saw Angie roll her eyes.

“Stanley,” Lute hissed in his ear.

_Shoot! I shouldn’t call someone by their nickname without askin’ first. He might not even go by Stan._ He nudged Lute in response. 

“This here is Fiddleford,” Ma said. Fiddleford nodded. "He just finished up his first year at college. He's home for the summer."

"I also answer to Fidds," Fiddleford supplied. 

_My full name can be a bit unwieldy to someone who ain’t used to McGucket names._

"Fidds. Right. Got it," Stanley muttered. 

"Next is Lute." Fiddleford listened to Ma continue with the introductions. He watched Lute and Angie out of the corner of his eye, catching the multiple times his younger siblings goofed off, made faces, and whispered to each other. 

_Can’t these two at least_ pretend _to be mature?_

"Did y'all clear out a room?" Pa asked. Fiddleford opened his mouth, but Lute interjected.

"All we had time to get ready was the guest room. But Harper said we could use his." Lute cast a smirk in Fiddleford’s direction.

_Why is he so dang competitive?_

"Sounds perfect. Fidds, why don't ya show our new farmhand where he'll be stayin'," Pa said. He clapped a hand on Stanley's shoulder. "If ya give me the key to yer car, I'll park it fer ya."

"No," Stanley said shortly. Fiddleford frowned.

 _That was a bit rude._ He cleared his throat, determined to do his part.

"If ya follow me, I'll show ya yer room," Fiddleford said. Stanley took a deep breath and nodded. Fiddleford's parents and younger siblings watched them enter the house. Once they stepped inside, Fiddleford stopped and pointed to a basket next to the door. “Put yer shoes in there, please.”

“Uh, what?”

“Shoes aren’t allowed inside the house.”

“Really?”

“This is a farm. Who knows what’s on yer shoes. Don’t want to track cow pies all over the carpet. Again.”

“Um, okay.” 

_Why is the thought of takin’ off his shoes inside so weird to him?_ Fiddleford led Stanley into the house, where the new farmhand stopped in front of the big family picture.

“So, you’ve got, what, five siblings?”

“Yep,” Fiddleford said affectionately. “Three brothers, two sisters.” 

“Uh, what are their names?” 

_That’s thoughtful of him, to want introductions._ As he rattled off his siblings’ names, Fiddleford glanced over at Stanley. Stanley was clearly confused by their names. _A lot of folks are._

“You guys have some weird names,” Stanley said at long last. Fiddleford shrugged and smiled.

“Most of us like ‘em. Couple of us aren’t fans of havin’ such strange, kinda unwieldly names. That’s what nicknames were invented for, I s’pose.”

“Heh. Right.”

“’Course, it’s all Pa’s fault,” Fiddleford continued. “It’s his family that has the weird name tradition. Ya know, he goes by Mearl, but his full name is Dulcimearl.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Fiddleford chuckled.

“If ya spend enough time here, ya might find that it does. Anyways, I’ve still got to show ya yer room. This way.” Fiddleford led Stanley down the hallway towards the guest room. He opened Harper’s old room to show Stanley. “This is where you’ll be stayin’ once we clear it out. For now, you’ll be in one of the guest rooms.”

“Pretty high-tech,” Stanley replied.

_Hi-tech? Oh, he means Harper’s equipment._

“Yep, Harper does special effects fer movies. He’s still finishin’ up schoolin’, but he’s already landed a job with some big comp’ny.”

“So, are you guys, like, geniuses or something?” Stanley asked, clearly slightly uncomfortable. Fiddleford scoffed, attempting to put him at ease.

“No.” Stanley nodded.

“Good.” Fiddleford closed the door. 

“Let’s keep movin’.” They walked down the hallway. Fiddleford glanced at the “Lute” sign on Violynn’s door.

 _Geez. Angie needs to stop with that nonsense._ They came to the guest room. Fiddleford opened the door. “Here ya go. It’s not much, but it’s a place to rest yer head for a lil while.”

“Holy shit.” 

_He’s got a sailor’s mouth, apparently._ Fiddleford clucked his tongue disapprovingly. _Stanley better not say those nasty words ‘round my little siblings._

“Sorry, it’s just, that’s a big bed,” Stanley said. 

_It is?_ A thought crossed Fiddleford’s mind.

“Have ya never had yer own bed before?”

“I had a bunk bed for most of my life. Never had a queen bed before. Or my own room.”

 _Never had his own room?_ Fiddleford frowned and decided to focus on the positive. _He can’t say that no more._

“Well, this’ll be yer bed for the time bein’. After mornin’ chores are done tomorrow, Lute and Angie promised to clear out Harper’s room. As long as those two can keep their heads on straight and concentrate fer once.” He shook his head. “I swear, those young’uns get distracted by just about everythin’.” Fiddleford gestured for Stan to enter the room. “We’ll give ya some time to settle in. Someone’ll come get ya for dinner.”

“Okay.” Fiddleford looked at Stanley, standing in the guest room.

_He’s a big fella. But somethin’ ‘bout him seems kinda small right now._

 

When Lute McGucket first saw Stanley Pines, he got very excited. 

This was a person his age, who didn’t seem like the kind of guy to act more mature and experienced. It was tough when your two closest siblings were an older brother that pretended he was responsible and a younger sister that had a tendency to get into trouble. 

_Maybe we can be friends! Wait, no. That sorta thinkin’ is what makes Fidds call ya a kid all the time._ As he pulled Joel off of Stanley, Lute looked him over. _How old is he? Whatever his age is, he seems too young to be on the street…_

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Lute said, doing his best to sound casual and cheerful. He pulled slightly on Joel’s collar, and the dog sat down, continuing to thump his tail.

 _We really need to work on controlling him better. But it’s not like we get many guests, and those are the only folks he jumps on._ He grinned at their new farmhand. Stanley responded with a mumbled response Lute couldn’t quite make out. Lute opened his mouth to ask Stanley to repeat himself, when he heard the screen door open and close. He turned his head. Fiddleford and Angie were exiting the house. Angie glared at him as she dutifully got in line. 

“Ya didn’t need to shove me outta the way,” she whispered to him. “Ya were goin’ to beat me to the door anyways. Yer faster.” Lute responded by sticking his tongue out at her. Then his ma began to speak.

“Only the youngest three are here right now.” His pa helped Stanley to his feet.

“You must be Stan,” Fiddleford said amiably.

“Stanley,” Lute whispered to his big brother. Fiddleford nudged him slightly. The young man nodded nervously, clutching his duffel bag like it would sprout legs and run off any moment. 

“This here is Fiddleford,” Ma said. Fiddleford nodded politely. “He just finished up his first year at college. He’s home for the summer.”

“I also answer to Fidds,” Fiddleford said. Angie and Lute exchanged a look.

_He really likes milkin’ that nickname Grannie Gucket gave him._

“Fidds. Right. Got it,” Stanley muttered. 

“Next is Lute.” Lute grinned at Stanley and patted Joel’s head. “He graduated from high school last week.”

“Howdy,” Lute said cheerfully. 

“And finally, Banjolina.” Lute choked back laughter and looked at his sister. She had a sour look on her face, like she always did when someone used her full name. “She’ll be a senior in high school this fall.”

“Please, call me Angie,” Angie said hurriedly. “Ev’rybody does.”

“Only ‘cause ya don’t let anyone use yer God-given name,” Lute whispered to her. Angie elbowed him, somehow without changing her face from being generically pleased.

“Fidds, Luke, and Angie,” Stanley said slowly, clearly trying to commit their names to memory. Angie and Fiddleford snickered just softly enough that only Lute could hear them.

“Lute. With a ‘T’.”

“Oh.” 

_I know we don’t have the most common names, but has he never heard of a lute before? What do they teach in New Jersey?_

“Did y’all clear out a room?” Pa asked. Fiddleford opened his mouth, but Lute beat him to it.

“All we had time to get ready was the guest room. But Harper said we could use his.” Lute glanced at Fiddleford. 

_Beat ya to it, big bro._ Fiddleford rolled his eyes. 

“Sounds perfect,” Pa said. “Fidds, why don’t ya show our new farmhand where he’ll be stayin’.” Pa clapped a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. “If ya give me the key to yer car, I’ll park it fer ya.”

“No,” Stanley said shortly. Lute exchanged a look with Angie. She raised her eyebrows at him, as if to remind him what she’d said about people from New Jersey being rude. But their Pa took it in stride and didn’t respond. Clearly excited to have a role to play, Fiddleford spoke.

“If ya follow me, I’ll show ya yer room.” Stanley took a deep breath and nodded. They watched Stanley and Fiddleford enter the house.

“You two need to finish up yer chores, if they aren’t done,” Ma said, after Fiddleford and Stanley had gone inside.

“They’re done,” Lute and Angie said together.

“Really?”

“Kinda,” Angie hedged.

“Depends on yer definition of ‘done’,” Lute said. Ma put her hands on her hips.

“Chores. Now. And if Fidds didn’t get a chance to finish his chores, finish ‘em for him, would ya?”

“Fine,” Angie groaned. She walked toward the barn, muttering. Joel leapt to his feet and started barking excitedly. 

“Joel, no!” Lute shouted. But it wasn’t any use. Joel sprinted after a squirrel he had spotted. “Angie! Get over here! Joel’s runnin’ after somethin’ again!” Angie turned. 

“Comin’!” she shouted back, and joined Lute in the mad chase after Joel. 

 

When Banjolina McGucket first saw Stanley Pines, the nervousness she felt stopped, for just a moment.

After she had grumbled to Lute, she looked at their new farmhand. The young man, about her age, seemed like someone that could do farm work. He was big, and underneath his chubbiness, she could make out some muscles. Something about him gave her a strange feeling, like he was more than he looked. His eyes were wide as he took in the barn, the garden, the orchard, and the pasture.

 _What, has he never seen a farm before?_ She frowned at this less-than-charitable thought. _Cool it. He looks scared and overwhelmed. Way more nervous than any of us are._ Her mother began to do introductions. _Oh no, please don’t say-_

“And finally, Banjolina.”

 _Consarnit! Ma, could ya introduce me with my nickname for once? Banjolina ain’t a name!_ She put on her best, most charming smile.

“Please, call me Angie. Ev’rybody does.” 

After that disastrous introduction, things seemed to continue to go downhill. 

_Can’t believe I broke the rules an’ embarrassed myself in front of our new farmhand._

Angie stopped the mental replay of what had happened earlier. She flopped down on her bed and moaned dramatically.

“Cut it out!” Lute shouted. Angie poked her head out of her room. Lute’s bedroom wasn’t right next to hers (there was a bathroom between their rooms), but he had inhumanly good hearing.

_To be fair, so do I. Must be somethin’ from Ma. Pa couldn’t hear a cowbell next to his ear._

“If ya don’t want to listen to me complainin’ ‘bout my life, close yer door!” she responded. “Or go to yer real room downstairs!”

“Just ‘cause ya moved my room sign don’t mean ya moved my room, Banjolina.”

“Hey!”

“Close yer own dang door. Ain’t ya s’posed to be in time-out, anyways?” Lute shot back. Angie immediately turned red.

“It ain’t time-out!”

“Both of ya close yer doors and stop hollerin’!” Fiddleford shouted from the living room. 

“Fine!” Lute and Angie yelled in unison. They slammed their doors at the same time. Angie leaned against her door and slid down it with a groan. Her upset suddenly stopped being about her own behavior, instead about both her behavior and Lute’s. 

_Why are Lute and I so in sync? We ain’t twins; he’s two years older than me. It don’t make sense._ She pulled her legs tight to her chest and tried to ignore the voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Ever since Lute had been accepted to the University of Missouri, that voice had gotten louder. 

_You don’t have a personality of your own. You just pick up things from other people. Once Lute leaves, you’ll disappear._ She covered her ears, despite knowing it wouldn’t help.  
“Yer wrong,” she whispered. “I _am_ my own person.

 _Really? Then how come you’re completely dependent on your family? How come you only have one friend? Someone who has a real personality, who exists, wouldn’t need so many people to support her. Someone like that would have more than one friend. Leighanne only pretends to like you because she has a crush on Lute._ Angie’s hands dropped to her sides and she clenched them into fists, squeezing her eyes shut. 

_I ain’t goin’ to cry. Not this time. I know that none of that is true._

_The only way you’ll know for sure is if you leave. If you go away and figure out who you are by cutting yourself off from everyone. Like Stanley did._ Her tears suddenly dried up. She swallowed. 

_Why_ did _Stanley end up on the streets? Can I ask him that? Or is that rude?_ Angie began to play with her hair, suddenly remembering how much she hated it being so long. _Stop it. No nervous habits, or you’ll lose all yer hair._ Like it usually did when she got distracted by something else, the voice of doubt had disappeared. But she knew it would come back.

Angie waited until 8 pm before she opened her door again. Most of her family was either asleep or about to fall asleep by then. Her father’s mantra ran through her head. 

_Early to bed, early to rise, gives ya a happy and healthy life._ Sure enough, all the lights were out. _But Stanley’s not used to farms. He might still be up._ She exited her room as silently as possible. Angie walked down the stairs carefully, avoiding the creaky one that Lute always forgot. _Okay, I’ll apologize to him, and then ask him why he ended up on the street._ She made her way quietly to the guest room and took a deep breath. Then she knocked. There was no response.

“Oh,” she said quietly. Angie played with her hands nervously, steeling herself.

 _Can I just go in? Is that somethin’ I can do?_ She opened the door. Stanley was asleep on the guest bed, snoring loudly. Angie smiled faintly. It was reassuring to see him comfortable and relaxed, after how tense he’d been earlier. _He’s a loud sleeper. Like Lynn. But seein’ as how he’s asleep, I can’t really ask him anything, can I?_

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

_Why did ya say that? He can’t hear ya!_ Before she closed the door, something on the bedside table got her attention. The empty picture frame had been placed face-down. Angie frowned and tiptoed over to the bedside table. She carefully picked up the picture frame.

 _Wait, there’s somethin’ in here._ Ignoring what her parents said about straining her eyes in the dark, Angie squinted at the picture. _That’s Stanley. But who’s the person with him?_ Stanley mumbled something in his sleep and turned over. He was now facing her. Angie froze instinctively, then put the picture frame back to where it had been originally. She backed out of the guest room and closed the door as silently as she could. 

_Maybe I can ask him tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on updating this so soon after I posted the first chapter. But today, instead of the prompt (I'm doing NaNoWriMo) I had planned on writing for, I wrote this. I'm pretty pleased with how this came out; I actually streamed most of the writing of this chapter earlier.  
> Anyways, this chapter is supposed to give a bit of a glimpse into the minds of some of the non-Stan characters. I'll be doing that here and there in this fic, but there won't be any other full non-Stan chapters.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	3. Best Behavior

**June 24, 1971**

Stan squinted at the pictures on the mantel in the living room.

_I swear they’re all clones._

“So, Stan,” Angie began, suddenly appearing at his elbow and startling him.

“Gah! When did you get here?” Stan demanded. Angie shrugged, but had a devious glint in her eye.

“I’m quiet.”

“Apparently,” Stan muttered, trying to calm down his heart rate. 

“Stan, how strong are ya?” Angie asked. Stan frowned at her.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Just ‘cause. I want to see if yer stronger than Lute or Basstian. They’re the strongest.”

“What can they pick up?” Stan asked. Angie shrugged again.

“I don’t know. Things. People.”

“People?” Stan asked, suddenly intrigued.

“Yeah. When I was lil, Basstian gave me piggy back rides all the time. He won’t do it no more ‘cause he says I’m too big.”

“Too big?”

“Yep.” Stan scoffed.

“That’s quitter talk.” He positioned himself in front of Angie. She looked at him suspiciously.

“What are ya doin’?” she asked.

“Proving that I’m stronger than your brother.”

“Whattaya- eek!” She squeaked in surprise as Stan lifted her into the air. As though instinctively, she balanced herself on Stan’s open hands.

_Good. Can’t really get a good grip on her. She’s thin as a twig, but she does have_ some _meat on her bones._

“How’s that?” Stan asked, pleasantly surprised to find out that his voice didn’t sound strained.

_It’s not like this is tough or anything._ Angie laughed.

“Perfect!” she said happily. “Hot hoecakes, I feel tall! Ya should pick me up more often!”

“Maybe I should. It’d be good exercise. After lifting you for long enough, I can move on to Lute, then Fidds.”

“Stanley!” Stan almost dropped Angie in response to his name suddenly getting shouted. Fiddleford had appeared, with the same quiet that Angie had. He looked with disapproval at the scene before him. “Stan, I have a great idea called ‘put down my sister’.”

“But Fidds!” Angie protested.

“No buts,” Fiddleford said tartly. “I don’t want Stan to drop ya. My baby sister can’t get hurt. Not on my watch.”

“Fine,” Angie grumbled. She wriggled free of Stan’s grip and landed gently on the floor on two feet. “An’ she sticks the landing!” Angie said, posing dramatically.

“Are you guys part cat or somethin’?” Stan asked. 

“Wouldn’t ya like to know?” Angie said sneakily, waltzing out of the room.

“Fiddleford, yer Pa and I are goin’ to head out, would ya mind doin’ the dishes?” Mrs. McGucket asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.

“Sure thing, Ma,” Fiddleford replied dutifully. At the sound of footsteps, Stan turned. Lute was standing at the foot of the staircase, his arms crossed.

“There goes Fiddleford, pretendin’ to be responsible again,” Lute muttered, watching his brother leave.

“Why do you always say that?” Stan asked.

“Say what?”

“Say that Fiddleford is pretending to be responsible. He seems like he actually is. And I know what responsible people look like,” Stan said.

_Hell, my own twin is one of ‘em._

“Oh, you poor naïve soul,” Lute said, shaking his head. “Ya got fooled, just like our folks. Fidds pretends to be responsible all the darn time. To understand why, ya have to understand how big fam’lies work. In a big fam’ly, ya can shove off responsibilities on yer younger siblings. There’s enough goin’ on that yer parents won’t notice that someone else did yer chores fer the day, or week, or…whatever. Fidds has been usin’ this loophole for forever.”

“Really? He doesn’t seem the type.”

“Fidds is a better actor than ya think. And as long as I can ‘member, Fidds has been gettin’ me or Angie to do his chores, while he putters around in the garage makin’ death machines or pterodactyl robots, or whatever else tickles his fancy. Then, after we finish the chores, he takes credit fer the work.” Lute glowered. “An’ Ma and Pa always buy it.”

“That sucks, man.” Lute shrugged.

“Yeah, but it is what it is. But the _real_ reason why he just _pretends_ to be responsible is ‘cause he only tells us to be careful when other folks are watchin’. If it had been me liftin’ Angie earlier, he wouldn’t have batted an eye. But yer still new here, so Fidds ain’t goin’ to show his real recklessness ‘round ya yet. He’s been gettin’ into scrapes with Angie and me since we were knee high. But he feels like he has to be a good role model, so he acts like one around other folks. ‘Round us kids, he don’t really care.”

“Huh.”

“Once ya settle in a bit more, you’ll see some of Fiddleford’s pretendin’ in action,” Lute said. “Actually, he might try an’ pull that right now.”

“Angie, come over here and help me out!” Fiddleford shouted from the kitchen. Lute gave Stan a look.

“See?” 

 

**July 15, 1971**

“Stan?” Stan sat bolt upright, and instinctively made a left hook. “Honeyed taters!” 

_Shit! I almost socked one of the McGuckets!_ He turned toward the person that had woken him up. _Which one is it? All the McGuckets look the same in the morning._

“Uh…Angie?” The McGucket nodded.

_I guessed right. Good._

“What are you doing in my room?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s Lute’s birthday today.”

“So?”

“So, we have a tradition in our fam’ly. On people’s birthdays, we wake ‘em up by singin’ ‘Happy Birthday’ to ‘em.”

“You didn’t do that for me.”

“Ya darn near almost punched me just now when I woke ya up,” Angie pointed out.

“Okay, maybe you were right to not wake me up on my birthday.”

“An’ anyways, we wanted to let ya sleep in. Gettin’ up early takes some gettin’ used to, so we figured we’d let ya get a few more hours of shuteye. Ya are new to livin’ on a farm, after all.”

“Thanks. But seriously, what does Lute’s birthday have to do with you waking me up?” Stan asked.

“Yer goin’ to sing with us!”

“Uh, no I’m not.”

“Yes, ya are. It’s required.”

“You don’t want to hear me sing.”

“I don’t believe that. I’m sure ya have a lovely voice, to match yer lovely personality.”

“Okay, now you’re just insulting me.”

“Oh, come on, Stan. Please?” Angie begged. Stan groaned.

“Fine!” He threw his covers off. Angie’s eyes widened. “Shit.” 

_I’m wearing my boxers and nothing else. She’s so damn sheltered, she might’ve never seen a guy in underwear that she wasn’t related to. Hell, she might not have seen_ any _guy in underwear, related or not._ Her reaction to seeing him in his boxers made him think it was the second option. Blushing slightly, Angie turned around. 

“I’ll let ya get dressed,” she said tightly, walking out of his room.

 

Stan went up the stairs. Standing outside Lute’s door in a small clump were Fiddleford, Angie, and Mr. and Mrs. McGucket.

“I’m here or whatever,” he mumbled. The McGuckets smiled at him.

“Thanks fer doin’ this,” Mr. McGucket whispered. “It means a lot. Especially to Lute. He looks up to ya.”

“Pa,” Angie hissed. 

“What?”

“Don’t expose Lute like that.”

“Sorry, junebug.” 

_June bug? Aren’t those the nasty looking bugs that always got caught in mom’s hair? Why would he call his daughter that?_

“So, what do we do?” Stan asked. 

“We go into his room and stand by his bed, and start singin’,” Mrs. McGucket replied. She opened the door quietly, and Stan and the McGuckets walked into Lute’s room. Stan tried to not get distracted by Lute’s décor.

_Never seen Lute’s room before._ They lined up next to the bed. Mr. McGucket nodded at them. The McGuckets began to sing. Fiddleford nudged Stan with a bony elbow. He looked.

“What?” he mouthed. Fiddleford stopped singing for a few seconds to mouth a response.

“Sing!” Stan shook his head. Angie, who had caught onto the silent conversation, joined Fiddleford in glaring at Stan. 

“Fine,” he mouthed back. He joined in the song. Lute opened his eyes immediately.

“Now, there’s a voice I never heard singin’ happy birthday before,” he said cheerfully, sitting up and rubbing his face.

“Yeah, well, your family’s persuasive.” Angie and Fiddleford gave each other a high-five. 

“Good work, lil sis,” Fiddleford said. Angie beamed at the praise. 

“I think I understand why they needed to persuade ya,” Lute said jokingly. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Stan, I like ya, but darn it, ya got a voice only a mother could love.”

 

**Thanksgiving, 1971**

“Stanley, I’m goin’ to be frank with ya,” Violynn began, gently rocking Cellary, who was asleep. She, Harper, Stan, and Angie were sitting in the living room. Angie had checked out of the conversation a while back and stuck her nose in a book “while the grown-ups talk”. She was sitting on the couch, but fidgeting and shifting around almost nonstop. Harper was leaning against the fireplace, and Stan and Violynn were sitting in the two armchairs.

“Go ahead,” Stan said.

“I thought ya would be a bit more…wild I s’pose is the term.”

“What?”

“I mean, what I’ve heard from Lute and Angie, it sounds like ya get up to some trouble with ‘em every now and then.”

“Oh.”

“I think that’s a good thing,” Harper put in. “Those young ‘uns need someone who’s big and strong and can help ‘em get out of any sticky situations they wind up in.”

“So, are ya wild? Or are ya tame?” Violynn asked.

“If ya put a gun to my head, I’d say wild,” Stan said. 

“Then why have ya been actin’ like a stuffed shirt?” Harper asked.

“I’ve just been on my best behavior.”

“Stan, ya don’t need to do that fer us,” Violynn said maternally. “Be yourself. We won’t judge ya.”

“I guess I was just, I dunno, a bit nervous about meetin’ y’all,” Stan confessed. Harper laughed.

“Nervous? To meet _us_? Stanley, we ain’t that intimdatin’.”

“You sure about that?” Stan muttered, thinking of the McGucket family as a whole, and how they tended to have a sort of hive mentality.

“Seriously, Stan, ya don’t need to be nervous. We like ya no matter how ya act. Yer good fer our younger siblings, and that’s important to us,” Violynn said, attempting to reassure him. “Yer a good soul.”

“Yeah. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we ain’t exactly the most tame fam’ly there is,” Harper added. “Them young ‘uns and myself are spitfires, to be sure.”

“Angie and Lute are spitfires. Yer a chatterbox,” Violynn said. Harper put a hand on his chest, pretending to be scandalized.

“Violynn, that’s so rude of ya!”

“It’s the truth, lil bro.” Cellary began to fuss slightly. “Oh no, sweetheart, are ya okay?” Her daughter stopped moving and relaxed again. Violynn sighed. “Children are a blessin’, but they’re also difficult.” She looked at Stan. “When ya have kids, make sure yer up to it.”

“Uh, what?”

“‘Lynn,” Angie said suddenly, “Cut it out. Who knows what Stan is goin’ to do with his life?”

“I don’t even know,” Stan muttered.

“Well, just a word of warnin’ to ya, is all,” Violynn said. “For example, Cellary’s been havin’ some nightmares lately. Bad dreams start in infancy, and ya have to be willin’ to lose sleep to help yer kids get some shuteye.”

“Nightmares, huh?” Stan said. “I know all ‘bout those.”

“Metaphorical or literal?” Violynn asked.

“Both.”

“Do ya still have nightmares?” Harper butt in.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Stan said cagily.

“If they’re recurrin’, I have a suggestion fer ya,” Harper said eagerly. Violynn rolled her eyes.

“Here we go again with that nonsense ya brought back from yer hippy-dippy school.”

“Fer recurring nightmares, I recommend lucid dreamin’,” Harper said. Stan squinted at him. 

“What did you just say?”

“Lucid dreaming,” Harper replied. He leaned in excitedly. “It’s where ya train yourself to be able to interact with yer dreams.”

“What?”

“Ya know yer asleep and dreamin’, but it don’t ruin the dream. Ya can control things, and communicate with dream folks.”

“Uhh…” Stan wasn’t too sure about this.

“Lucid dreamin’ is a real good way to figure out the root cause of repetitive nightmares, and how to fix ‘em, too.”

“Don’t listen to him, Stan,” Angie intervened. She was sitting upside down on the couch now. After intervening on Stan’s behalf before, she had apparently decided to watch the conversation. “It don’t work.”

“Just ‘cause it didn’t work fer you don’t mean it won’t work fer him,” Harper retorted, crossing his arms. Angie rolled her eyes.

“What do ya have recurring nightmares about?” Stan asked, slightly amused. “All the salamanders in the world disappeared? Ya have to share a room with Lute? Ya thought there was a sale on lip gloss, but there ain’t?” Angie pulled herself onto the couch so that she was sitting upright. She looked away nervously.

“What I may or may not have nightmares about ain’t of any consequence to ya,” she said shortly. Her fingers tapped against the patterned cushion. Harper exchanged a worried look with Violynn. 

“Hon, are ya havin’ the bad nightmares again?” Violynn asked. “‘Bout the same things?” 

“It don’t matter.”

“Angie, ya lost a lotta sleep when ya had all those nasty nightmares a while back,” Harper said, taking a seat next to his younger sister. “If yer havin’ ‘em again, ya need to tell Ma and Pa.”

“I’m fine, I ain’t havin’ the same nightmares,” Angie said, looking down at her hands.

“Yer havin’ dif’rent nightmares,” Violynn said. Angie stood.

“I told ya, I’m fine. Leave me alone.” She left the room and went up the stairs quickly. A few seconds later, her door slammed. 

“What’s this about nightmares?” Stan asked. Harper sighed.

“‘Round her last birthday, Angie got a bunch of nightmares,” he replied. “She said she knew what happened in ‘em when she was asleep, but once she woke up, she couldn’t remember. All she knew was that it was a lot of bad things. Whenever she had a nightmare, she was so shook up that she couldn’t fall back asleep fer that night. 

“At first, it weren’t that big a deal. She woke up a bit early in the mornin’, but she’d be fine by breakfast. And then she started havin’ ‘em right when she fell asleep, and it’d mess with her so much that she would just freeze fer hours. She barely got out of bed fer school, and she’d fall asleep in class ‘cause she was so tired. Then she’d have _another_ nightmare. It just kept goin’ on and on. Ma and Pa got really scared fer her.” Harper’s voice quieted as he finished speaking.

“Mental…fragility runs in our family,” Violynn said. “Lots of folks on Pa’s side, and Ma’s side, too, get scared easy, or won’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout things. A couple of ‘em have completely lost their minds, like our cousin Thistlebert. But no one’s ever had this problem with nightmares. No one knew what to do.”

“Ma and Pa even talked ‘bout not goin’ on their trip to look fer colleges fer Angie,” Harper continued for Violynn. “But the youngest three convinced ‘em to go. It was a near miss. As I understand it, Angie managed to hold back cryin’ until after Ma and Pa left, but only fer a few seconds. If she hadn’t, well…”

“You guys woulda never met me,” Stan said slowly. Harper and Violynn nodded.

“After Ma and Pa left, Angie’s nightmares started gettin’ a bit better. But they only stopped after my birthday, in May,” Violynn said. “If they’re startin’ again…Ma and Pa might not let Fidds’ roommate come over fer the holidays.” She looked at Harper. “I really hope Angie’s just havin’ normal nightmares. Maybe she’s just sensitive to ‘em ‘cause of what happened before.”

“Maybe.” Harper looked over at the staircase. “I don’t know what Ma and Pa would do if they started up again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who were paying attention may have caught onto the moment of canon divergence in this AU that I came up with, or the foreshadowing/implications of some of the more heavy material.  
> As for Fiddleford shoving his chores on his younger siblings, don't worry, they always get him back. It's an endless cycle of sibling retribution.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	4. Some Things Are the Same Everywhere

**June 31, 1971**

Stan groaned and rolled over. 

_Why did I get a cold…in fucking June? This is bullshit._

“I don’t think it’s a cold,” a very chipper voice said. “I think it’s the flu.” Stan sat up and winced as the sudden movement gave him a headache. He squinted at the person that had just spoken. Ma McGucket was standing in the doorway of his room, the youngest two children right behind her. 

“Oh, like yer a doctor,” Lute replied, turning to face his little sister. 

_Okay, so it was Angie that said it._ He groaned and fell back to the bed.

“I can’t do anything today,” he mumbled. “Sorry.” 

“Well, duh,” Angie said. 

“All right, you two, scoot!” Ma McGucket said. Lute and Angie protested mildly, but left. The door closed. “Stan?” Stan looked over at Ma McGucket. She was holding a big bowl in her hands. 

“What’s that?” Stan asked. Ma McGucket sat the bowl down on the dresser and indicated that he should sit up. He did so, but more slowly than before. She grouped a bunch of pillows behind his back, so that he could sit up but also lean against something. “Uh, thanks.” Ma McGucket shrugged cheerfully. 

“I take care of folks when they get sick.” She picked up the bowl again and handed it to Stan. “This right here is what my kids call ‘Ma’s famous chicken soup’. Veggies are freshly harvested, chicken in it was killed just yesterday, and even the noodles are handmade, usin’ eggs we collected from the farm.”

_Some things are the same everywhere. Moms insist on giving sick people chicken soup._

“Wow.”

“Yup. The only thing in the soup what wasn’t handmade or homegrown is the bacon bits. Used to be that bacon was from our own pigs, but we’ve gotten rid of the hogs since then.” Stan stared down at the bowl of soup, savoring the aroma. 

“I’ve never had bacon in chicken noodle soup before.”

“It’s an old Turner fam’ly recipe.” Stan frowned at her.

“Turner?”

“My maiden name.” Ma McGucket sighed heavily. “The Tennessee Turners. My folks never did like Mearl, so I haven’t talked to ‘em in quite some time. But I still got the recipes I learned as a girl.” 

“Huh.” Stan wasn’t sure what to say in response. Ma McGucket smiled at him for a brief moment before her eyes widened in panic.

“Oh no, yer Jewish. An’ Jewish folks don’t eat bacon! Sorry, Stanley.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t practice,” Stan said quickly. His stomach was beginning to rumble in anticipation of the meal. “And bacon is probably my favorite food.” Ma McGucket looked at him, concerned.

“Are ya sure it’s fine?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, okay then.” She fluffed his pillows one last time. “The youngest two are goin’ to take care of yer chores until yer better. So expect them to come in and chat with ya.” She smiled. “It’s their way of tryin’ to fish out folks who are pretendin’ to be sick. If yer sick, ya won’t get up just to get them to leave. But if ya aren’t sick, you’ll give in eventually.” Stan snorted.

“I think I can handle it.

“I don’t know. I mean, even Harper can’t handle Lute and Angie takin’ shifts to ramble ‘bout the exact color of their favorite chicken in the coop.” Ma McGucket stroked his hair kindly, then left the room, closing the door quietly.

Right on cue, there was a small knock. Lute entered. He sat down next to Stan’s bed.

“Ya ever looked at the chickens in the coop?” he asked. “ _Really_ looked at ‘em?”

_Oh, God._

 

**August 2, 1971**

Stan adjusted himself on the itchy picnic blanket. He was laying down on the tartan-patterned wool blanket with Fiddleford, Lute, and Angie, waiting for a meteor shower. 

“So when’s this supposed to start?” he asked.

“It don’t start. It’s always goin’ on,” Angie said. “We just move into it.”

“Uh-huh.”

_If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was a nerd._

“It should start soon,” Fiddleford supplied.

“Got it.” Stan was very aware of how close he was to the McGuckets. Somehow, he had ended up sandwiched between the youngest two.

_Angie’s practically laying on top of me. And Lute’s not giving me much space, either._

“Lute, Angie,” Fiddleford said abruptly, “give Stan some breathin’ room. Ya don’t need to smother him.” Angie and Lute scooched away from him, grumbling. 

_Holy shit, did he read my mind or something?_ Fiddleford winked at him. _I should get Mom to hire him._ Stan slapped a mosquito that had landed on his hand. Unfortunately, the insect had been filled with blood, and left a huge smear. 

“Great,” he muttered. “Got a stranger’s blood on my hands.” Lute laughed.

“Don’t say that sort of thing, folks’ll get the wrong idea.” He grinned at his little sister. “‘Specially since ya consort with criminals.”

“Criminals?”

“Yup.”

“Angie, since when are ya a criminal?” Stan asked.

“Ya ever been to a zoo before, Stan?” Angie said bluntly, appearing to change the topic. Stan blinked.

“Well, yeah. Have you?” Stan asked. 

_I can understand why she wouldn’t want to share a criminal record._

“Once. Fer my fourteenth birthday.” She sighed. “Never since then.”

“That’s yer own dang fault,” Lute chimed in. 

“Whattaya mean?” Stan asked, confused.

“Angie got banned from the Little Rock Zoo. That’s why she’s only been there once.” Stan propped himself up on one shoulder and looked over at Angie.

“You got banned from a zoo? How?”

“I broke into the giraffe exhibit,” Angie muttered. Stan snorted.

“Why?”

“‘Cause the giraffes were tall, I was short, an’ I wanted to ride ‘em! Security weren’t very good anyways. I basically just walked right into the enclosure.”

“We were lookin’ ‘round fer Angie,” Lute said. “Couldn’t find her anywhere.”

“We got mighty worried,” Fiddleford added. “Until we heard someone say ‘Is that a girl climbing the tree?’” He grinned at his little sister. “We knew it would be our Angie ‘fore we even looked.” Stan laughed.

“What happened?”

“Security came in and made me get outta the tree,” Angie replied. “Then they escorted me out the zoo. An’ put me on a banned list.” 

“Ma took pictures of Angie climbin’ that tree,” Lute said. “Prob’ly my favorite birthday of Angie’s. Nothin’s funnier than watchin’ yer lil sister gettin’ led out of a zoo fer breakin’ the law.” Angie reached across Stan to shove Lute. 

“It weren’t funny! Ma and Pa were angry.”

“‘Course they were!” Fiddleford said. “Ya broke the law.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Stan said idly, laying back down on the picnic blanket. “I’ve gotten in way worse trouble.”

“Like what?” Lute asked, interested. Stan snorted.

“How much time do we have?”

“How ‘bout yer best story, then?” Angie suggested. 

“Oh, geez. Um, well, there was that one time that I spent a whole day bummin’ for pennies from strangers.”

“That ain’t a good story,” Lute grumbled.

“Let him finish,” Fiddleford chided.

“I didn’t get enough change to buy anything, I just swiped a bag of salt water taffy and ran.”

“Pfft.”

“That’s still not a good story.”

“Lute!”

“My stars, Fidds, cut it out!” Lute shot at his older brother. Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“Anyways, I didn’t pay attention to where I was goin’,” Stan continued, ignoring the bickering brothers. Angie was still watching him with rapt attention. “And I ran right into a trashcan. The trashcan was full of all sortsa food people hadn’t finished, and dumped in there. French fries, fried fish, that sorta thing. Now, I dunno if any of ya have been to the ocean-”

“No,” the McGuckets chorused together.

“Right. Well, seagulls don’t give a damn.” Angie giggled. “They don’t. They will eat anything they can. They prefer fried things from the boardwalk places, though.”

“I think I see where this is goin’,” Lute said slowly. Angie and Fiddleford shushed him.

“Turns out, they give so few damns that if you happened to be covered in boardwalk food, no matter how fast you run, they will still chase ya. All the way down the beach. On the bright side, people were too busy laughing at me to arrest me for stealin’.” Angie laughed. Lute chuckled.

“Okay, that _was_ a decent story,” he conceded.

“Good. ‘Cause that was not my best one.”

“What? We asked fer yer best one,” Lute protested. Stan shook his head. 

“Nope. Maybe in a few months, I’ll tell ya. But it’s too embarrassing to tell y’all right now.”

“Oh, come on!” Angie wheedled. Stan shook his head again.

“Nuh-uh.”

“But-”

“Shh!” Stan, Lute, and Angie looked at Fiddleford. He was staring at the sky with a rapturous expression. “It’s startin’,” he whispered. The others looked up. Stan’s breath caught in his throat. It was like the entire universe was spread out in front of him, and someone had spilled a bottle of liquid silver on it. Some part of him wanted to reach up and attempt to touch the glistening Milky Way, or the burst of light that ran across the dome of the sky.

“Whoa,” he said quietly.

“Ya prob’ly never seen so many stars, city boy,” Angie said softly.

“Yer right. I haven’t.”

“Then it’s a good thing ya saw this,” Lute said. “The Perseids are some of the best.” 

“Dunno what that word means, but I agree. Definitely the best.” Fiddleford chuckled.

“The meteors are called the Perseids. ‘Cause they come from constellation Perseus.” 

“Oh. I just call ‘em shooting stars.”

“That works, too.”

They watched bright streaks of light dash across the sky, flaring up quickly, and dying out twice as fast.

 

**March 20, 1972**

A damp low-hanging branch smacked Stan in the face. He sighed heavily.

“How much longer is this gonna take?” he asked. Angie emerged from the underbrush, mud splattered on her overalls. Because of the high amount of dirt she tended to collect on hikes, Ma McGucket had designated her a specific outfit to wear, to prevent Angie’s nice skirts from getting stained.

“We just got here!”

“Where, exactly, is here?”

“The place I found Tubbs! Them science folk want pictures of his habitat.” A large drop of water landed on the top of Stan’s head. 

“Did we have to come right after it rained?”

“Yeah. After it rains is when amphibians come out. Maybe we’ll find another Tubbs!” There was a rustle. Angie looked at Stan’s feet. The blood abruptly drained from her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look down.” Stan did so. A snake was slithering past his left foot.

“So? It’s just a snake.”

_Angie’s a wilderness kinda gal. Wouldn’ta thought she’d be scared by an oversized worm like that._

“A venomous one,” Angie whispered.

“What?!”

“No sudden movements or noises! You’ll scare it, and it might attack.”

“What do I do?”

“Just wait fer it to go on its way.” They watched with baited breath as the snake slowly crawled into bushes nearby. “See?” Angie said cheerfully, making a quick switch to her normal exuberant demeanor. 

“All right, we’re leavin’.”

“We can’t! Or at least, I can’t. Ya can go back home if’n yer scared.” 

“Wait. Do ya hear that?”

“Hear what?” A rattling noise cut through the sounds of the dripping forest. “Oh. That. That’s a rattler.”

“As in a rattlesnake?”

“Yeah.” Angie met his eyes. “We can go,” she conceded.

“No shit.” Stan grabbed her hand and pulled her through the bushes. She stumbled and fell, landing on her Polaroid camera with a sickening crunch. “Sorry.” He helped her up. Angie made no attempt to brush off the new mud coating her front. She stared at the pieces of her prized possession.

“M-my camera,” she said weakly. 

“Fidds can fix it though, right?” Angie shook her head, already tearing up.

“It’s too many pieces fer him to put back together, and now it’s all clogged up with mud anyways.”

“Oh. Shit. Angie, I’m sorry.” Angie sniffed piteously. “It’ll be all right, I mean, it’s just a camera.”

“No. It ain’t. My camera set me apart from my siblings. Made me dif’rent.”

“But yer dif’rent already,” Stan said. Angie shook her head slowly.

“Don’t matter,” she said softly. 

“Angie, I’m-”

“I know.” She tried to remove a clump of mud from her clothes, but just smeared it more. Angie sighed. “Let’s do home. Nothin’ left to do here.” Stan looked at the broken Polaroid for a few moments.

_Guess it’s the same everywhere. I fuck up someone’s ticket outta some town they wanna leave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. I've been pretty busy lately, and accidentally wrote a bunch for the _next_ chapter instead of this one. Whoops.  
>  Also, last chapter was a bit goofy. I'd apologize, but I'm probably gonna make a lot of people angry later on, so I should save my sorries for then. I have some pretty good angst planned.  
> As always, leave your questions or comments below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	5. Stubborn to a Fault

**June 24, 1971**

“Oof!” Stan fell off of Hardtack, yet again. As he spat the dirt and dust out of his mouth, he could hear Angie and Lute trying to hold back their laughter. “Go ahead and laugh, I know you wanna,” he grumbled.

“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be polite or proper,” Lute said in an affected manner.

“It’s ‘nor’,” Fiddleford said, walking over to Stan and helping him up. “It wouldn’t be polite _nor_ proper to laugh at Stan fer fallin’ off his horse. Again.”

“Pfft!” Angie snorted. Stan brushed himself off.

“Yeah, yeah. Told you I wasn’t any good at this.”

“Hardtack’s just stubborn,” Angie said reassuringly. “Give him time.”

“I’ve had him for a few weeks. It’s not gonna work.”

“Ya need to be stubborn right back!” Lute insisted. “What happened to all that talk ‘bout bein’ stubborn?”

“Look, you might as well just sell him back or something. It was ridiculous to get me a horse anyways,” Stan said. Angie and Lute exchanged a look. 

“That’s not what ya do,” Lute said.

“What?”

“Ya don’t throw in the towel. Ya don’t give up. I don’t know how ya do things in New Jersey, but here in Gumption, we get right back on the horse. Don’t matter if it bucked ya and messed up yer neck alignment.”

“Messed up your what?” Stan asked.

“It don’t matter, it only happened once,” Lute said quickly. Angie took Hardtack’s reins and stroked his neck. 

“Hardtack can be a sweetheart, look at him,” she said, running her fingers through his mane.

“Then you keep him.”

“I’ve got Daisy. I don’t need another horse.” She looked over at where her horse was grazing in the pasture. “An’ I got a bond with her what can’t be broken. We got Daisy as a foal. I had to train her myself.” She looked back at Stan. “All of us had to train our horses.” 

“Then you can train Hardtack.” Lute snorted.

“Ya think Hardtack ain’t trained? He _is_ trained. Believe me, we wouldn’t let a city slicker be ‘round an untrained horse,” Lute said.

“Then why the hell does he hate me so much?” Stan demanded. 

“Hardtack is trained, but he’s also stubborn,” Fiddleford put in. “Ya have to earn his respect.”

“I tried!”

“No, ya didn’t. Ya spent a couple weeks tryin’ to ride him. It’ll take more work than that.”

“Then what’s the point?” Stan asked. Angie and Lute blinked in synch.

“The point?” Angie said. “The point is that ya get a livin’ creature to trust and respect ya. The point is in the long run, it pays off.”

“It takes a lot of work,” Fiddleford said, “but anythin’ worth doin’ takes work.” Lute nodded.

“Don’t call it quits after a short while. Hardtack is a good horse. Ya can’t give up on him so soon.” Stan looked at Hardtack. 

“Fine. I’ll try again. But only because horses are expensive or whatever.” Angie handed the reins back to Stan.

“If ya say so,” Lute said. He patted Stan. “Now, get back up there, cowboy.”

 

**December 28, 1971**

Fiddleford and Ford sat on the porch bench, watching the sun rise. Frost glistened on the cropped lawn, and the roosters in the coop began to crow.

“It’s peaceful out here,” Ford said quietly, unwilling to disturb the silence. “Back in New Jersey, you can’t get away from the chaos of the city.”

“Ya do _live_ in the city,” Fiddleford said. 

“I know.” Ford put an arm around Fiddleford. “Thank you for inviting me for the holidays, I’ve had a great time.”

“Me too. And after all that nonsense with yer twin got settled, the others have enjoyed it, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a relief.” Ford looked up. His eyes widened. “Is that mistletoe?”

“Hmm?” Fiddleford also looked up. “Oh, I s’ppose it is. I forgot that Basstian insists on puttin’ it up every year.”

“You know what needs to happen when you meet someone under mistletoe, right?” Ford asked. Fiddleford nodded. They both leaned in. Before their lips could meet, they were interrupted by a loud shout.

“Oh, gross!” Startled, they jerked away from each other. 

“Angie!” Fiddleford said, scandalized. Angie and Stan were standing in front of them, watching the spectacle. They each held a bucket full of liquid. 

“This is what we get fer milkin’ the cows before everyone else wakes up,” Stan complained. He gestured at Fiddleford and Ford. “A fuckin’ porno!” Angie giggled. 

“Stanley!” Ford said. He looked back at the house, desperately hoping that his boyfriend’s parents hadn’t heard. “Keep it down!”

“What- _you_ keep it in yer pants, Sixer!” Stan retorted. Angie looked at him, confused.

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll explain later,” Stan whispered to her. 

“No, ya won’t!” Fiddleford said abruptly.

“Fiddleford, I- I thought your family was all right with- with us,” Ford said to his boyfriend. 

“Oh, we are,” Angie said, moving the bucket of milk from one hand to the other. “I just don’t like seein’ my older brother kissin’ _anyone_.” She shrugged. “Don’t matter who they are. It’s still gross.” 

“Yeah, if ya decide to make out in public, don’t get all upset when people make fun of ya,” Stan said. He took the other bucket of milk from Angie. “Ya need to _both_ be attractive to make it entertaining, Ford.” 

“I’m your twin!” Ford protested.

“The less handsome one,” Stan said. Angie nodded in agreement. Ford rolled his eyes.

“Now, are ya goin’ to keep makin’ out or can we bring in the milk without gettin’ scarred fer life?” Angie asked. Fiddleford glared at his younger sister and Stan. 

“Bring it in,” he said, his voice just as frosty as the lawn. Angie took her bucket of milk back from Stan and rushed inside, still remembering to make sure the door didn’t slam closed. After she had gone in, Stan went over to Fiddleford and Ford.

“Make sure ya use protection,” he whispered to Ford. 

“Stanley!” Ford said, aghast. Stan clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder. 

“Later, nerds.”

 

**April 1, 1972**

Stan walked into the kitchen, drawn by a tantalizing smell. He quickly figured out what the smell was. Ma McGucket was cooking at the stove.

“We’re not on our own fer breakfast?” he asked, peering at the pancake-esque things she was making.

“Nope. Special occasion.”

“What’s the special occasion?”

“Angie’s birthday.” Stan blinked.

“Oh, I get it. Yer pullin’ my leg. April Fool’s and all that.”

“No. Angie was born on April 1st, 1955.”

“Then how come ya didn’t sing her awake?” Ma McGucket flipped over one of the pseudo-pancakes.

“Angie’s like Violynn, Basstian, and Mearl. She don’t do well gettin’ woken up by folks. Usually yells at whoever it is, then falls back asleep.” 

“Wait, so it’s _really_ Angie’s birthday? Today?” Stan verified, dread mounting.

“Yes.” Ma McGucket fixed a look on him and propped one hand against her hip. “What did ya do?”

_That’s the same tone Mom used on me whenever I broke something or faked bein’ sick to skip school. Did Mom and Sally go to the same mom-school or somethin’?_

“Y’know,” he replied, stalling, “that’s the same look Mom used to give me when I got in trouble.”

“Stanley Pines.”

“Okay, in my defense, I didn’t know it was her birthday.” A door upstairs opened. There was a splash and clatter, accompanied by a squeak of surprise.

“Eek!” Ma McGucket frowned at Stan.

_Great. Now I’m in for it._ A few moments later, Angie walked into the kitchen, sopping wet. She looked at Stan helplessly.

“Uh…April Fool’s?” Angie continued to stare askance at him, mute.

_Shit! I thought she’d yell at me. I can handle that. I can’t handle this…silent judgement or whatever she’s got going on._ Ma McGucket kissed her youngest on the forehead.

“Go get changed, junebug. Yer breakfast ain’t ready yet. Yer favorite: hoecakes.” Angie nodded, slightly assuaged. She went back upstairs, dripping water with every step. 

“So…” Stan started.

“Ya better have gotten her a nice present,” Ma McGucket said, turning her attention back to the hoecakes. 

“Uh…” Ma McGucket sighed.

“After mornin’ chores, go pick up somethin’ fer her. Good thing her birthday’s on a Saturday this year.”

“Can’t I just let her prank me back?”

“Oh she _will_ prank ya back. If it were any other day, that’d be enough. But today’s her birthday. An’ we banned pranks on April 1 after Lute traumatized her with that spider a few years back. She weren’t expectin’…whatever ya did. You’ll have to do a proper apology.” 

“Okay.” Stan rubbed his chin, thinking. “That antique store she likes is open on Saturdays,” he said slowly. Ma McGucket nodded.

“That’s a good start.”

“She’s been looking at that camera in the window for a while now,” he continued. “And I kinda owe her a new one after making her break her old one.”

“Today’s as good a day as any to do that,” Ma McGucket said. “Ya can sneak out while Angie takes Daisy fer her mornin’ ride.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Stan was suddenly hit in the back of the head with something very wet.

“What the-” He turned. Angie was standing behind him, changed into dry clothes, a second water balloon in hand. “…Happy birthday?”

“Some birthday,” she retorted. “Got to do everythin’ myself. Includin’ bring the balloons.” There was a glint in her eye. Stan sighed. 

“Go ahead, Gucket.” He closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

 

“Here ya go.” Stan handed Angie a poorly wrapped object. She turned it over in her hands. 

“Stan, ya didn’t need to get me anything. Most of my siblings just make me cards.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes they team up. One year, I only got _one_ card. They bought somethin’ from the drug store and then all signed it. No personal messages or anything.”

“Really?” Angie shrugged.

“That was also the year where I went through an…experimental phase.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Stan asked. Angie chuckled.

“I read some sort of book about witches and decided I was one. Harper didn’t appreciate the ‘potion’ I left on his desk, to fix his acne.”

“Potion?”

“Mostly mud and twigs, with a few strands of horsehair mixed in. And Violynn didn’t like when I tried to cast a hex on her to keep her from tellin’ me what to do. But in my defense, I am not actually a witch, and it was just a coincidence that skunk stopped by.” Stan grinned.

“I dunno. Maybe ya are a witch.” 

“Nah.”

“But if ya don’t need the present,” he began, reaching over to take it from her. Angie held the object close to her body.

“No, I want it!”

“Then open it!”

“But Ma and Pa ain’t ‘round.”

“Do they need to be?”

“No…”

“Then open it!”

“Okay, fine.” Angie tore off the wrapping, slowed down by the excessive amounts of tape Stan had used. “Did ya really need this much tape?” she asked, picking at it with a fingernail. 

“Yeah. Otherwise it wouldn’t stay together.” She finally managed to fully unwrap it. Angie gasped.

“It’s a new Polaroid!”

“Yep. Well, new fer you. Not fer the person who gave it to the secondhand store.” Angie looked down at her new camera.

“It’s the one I’ve been lookin’ at!”

“Yeah, I noticed you seemed to like it.”

“Really?”

“I mean, ya did insist on starin’ at the display window whenever ya walk by the place.” Angie beamed. She set down the camera and embraced him.

“Thank you, Stan.”

“Eh, it’s mostly just payment fer breakin’ yer old one and prankin’ ya on yer birthday.” Angie broke off the hug, still grinning from ear to ear. She picked up the camera.

“Say cheese!”

“What? Hey, no pictures!” Stan protested. Angie shook her head. 

“Nope. I don’t miss opportunities to take pictures of folks. It’s the best way to ‘member ‘em.” She admired the freshly printed photo. “This un’s a keeper.” Angie looked up at him, a slight blush spreading across her cheeks. “Just like you.”

 

**September 15, 1973**

“So, are ya still seein’ Hannah?” Stan asked. Angie’s sigh crinkled over the phone.

“No. She ended it. But it weren’t goin’ to go anywhere anyways. There wasn’t a…spark. So we parted on pretty good terms.”

“Do I need to come down there?”

“Fer- fer a confrontation?”

“Well, yeah. Can’t let anybody hurt ya.” There was a long silence. “Uh, Angie?”

“Please don’t pull a Lute.”

“A what?” 

“Oh, that’s right,” Angie said. “Ya weren’t ‘round fer The Great Kerfuffle of ’67.”

“‘The Great Kerfuffle of ‘67’?” Stan asked. 

“Yep. Let’s see… I was 12, Lute was 14. Lute was two grades above me at the time, in his first year of high school. But we still ate lunch together ev’ry day.” 

“When does the fightin’ start?”

“Be patient! I’m settin’ the scene. Anyways, this happened pretty soon after we started callin’ Fidds ‘Fiddleford’. Some of the folks at school messed with him ‘cause of it. A few messed with Lute. But only one ever tried to bother me.”

“Wait, folks messed with y’all ‘cause of Fidds?”

“Yup. One day at lunch, before Lute got there, some boy sat at the table across from me. He asked me if I was goin’ to be a queer like my sister. I corrected him, said Fidds was my brother. Things escalated from there. 

“Now, in an argument, I can hold my own. My Auntie Banjey used to say that my tongue is as sharp as barbed wire. But this fight got physical fast. I- I practic’ly saw my life flash ‘fore my eyes when that boy grabbed my hair and started throwin’ me ‘round.”

“Weren’t there any teachers?”

“The teachers weren’t too fond of the McGucket fam’ly at that point, either. Before I could get a black eye, or a broken bone, or somethin’, Lute showed up. His anger scared me. I always knew Lute could go too far, but this was somethin’ else. Eventually, Fidds arrived. It took both of us to drag Lute off the boy. 

“Lute’s bruisin’ was on his knuckles. The boy’s bruisin’ was…probably what I would’ve gotten, if Lute hadn’t shown up.”

“How bad was it?”

“Bad. Real bad.”

“‘Kerfuffle’? Wouldn’t ‘brawl’ be a better word, if it was so bad?” Stan asked.

“The boy’s parents called his messin’ with me a kerfuffle, to make it seem like it weren’t a big deal until Lute showed up.”

“Oh.”

“If Ma didn’t have that lawyer degree of hers, Lute could’ve been expelled. As it was, he got suspended. The first and only time one of us kids got in that big of trouble.”

“Holy Moses.”

“Afterwards, I asked Lute why he went feral like that. He said that once he saw someone messin’ with his baby sister, makin’ her cry, he saw red. He couldn’t stop himself.” Angie sounded disappointed.

“He did the right thing,” Stan said. 

“No, he didn’t,” Angie insisted. “Lute went way too far. He went beyond protectin’ me. There’s protective, and then there’s overprotective. It’s a fine line, and Lute jumped over it. And I- I hated that. I hate when people go so far to try to protect someone. Bein’ overprotective of someone can hurt you, it can hurt them, it can hurt both of ya.”

“I still think Lute was right,” Stan said stubbornly. Angie sighed.

“I thought ya would. Just- don’t do what he did, okay? I’d hate fer ya to end up in jail fer a fam’ly member.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the scenes that take place during "Stanley McGucket" are finished! Everything else from here on out happens _after_ Stan graduates from high school in 1972.  
>  If anyone is interested in watching me write and chatting with me, I do live streams every now and then on picarto (https://picarto.tv/TheLastSpeecher). If you wanna stop by sometime, I'd love to have you. Of course, I don't have a regular streaming schedule...That's neither here nor there.  
> How am I doing? I haven't gotten many comments lately; you guys still enjoying this?  
> Also, this will be the last update on any of my fics until after I'm done with the semester. I'm hoping to get some stuff posted while I'm on break, including finish "In Another World" and start up yet _another_ multichap. See you guys then!  
>  As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	6. Using a Phone Isn't Quite the Same

**August 31, 1972**

Stan stared at the phone in the living room. 

_C’mon. Ring. Ring, dammit!_

“Y’know, in order to use the phone, ya have to pick it up and dial in a number,” Pa McGucket said, not unkindly, from his seat on the couch. Stan sighed.

“I know, I know. It’s just-” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue his sentence.

“Yer lonely,” Ma McGucket said from the kitchen.

“…Maybe.”

“Stan, if ya want to talk to someone, call,” Pa McGucket said. Stan shook his head.

“No, I can’t use the phone. Angie said she was gonna call.”

“When?” Stan checked his wristwatch.

“Four hours ago,” he said slowly. 

“Are ya takin’ into account the time difference?” Ma McGucket asked.

“Yeah. She even told me, when we dropped her off. She said she was gonna call at two, our time, ‘cause she gets done with classes early on Fridays.” Ma McGucket walked into the living room to pat Stan reassuringly on the shoulder with a flour-covered hand.

“Give her time.”

“She said she was gonna call ev’ry week,” Stan said quietly. 

“Angie has to find herself,” Ma McGucket replied. Stan looked at her, confused.

“What?”

“She’s the youngest. She’s been livin’ her entire life based ‘round her siblings. Defined herself by them. Angie needs to figure out who she really is. And while she does that, she won’t talk much to us.” 

“What makes ya so sure ‘bout that?” Stan asked.

“Both Mearl and I are youngest of big families, too. We had to find ourselves the first time we were on our own. It’s a thing that happens. She’ll be fine.” Ma McGucket sighed softly. “Just…don’t hang all yer hopes of socializin’ on her. Try callin’ someone else, instead.” Ma McGucket patted his shoulder one last time before being summoned to kitchen again by a timer going off. Stan resumed his staring contest with the phone.

_It ain’t gonna ring._ He reached out, picked it up, and dialed in a number.

“Hey, Lute,” Stan said, the moment the phone was picked up on the other end. “How’s school?”

 

**October 14, 1972**

“Look, Stan, I didn’t come here fer my one long weekend this semester just so’s ya could stare at some numbers the whole time,” Lute said, walking into the living room and sitting next to Stan on the couch. Stan grunted in response. Lute peered over at the small slip of paper in Stan’s hand. “What _is_ that, anyway?”

“My folks changed their phone number, apparently. I tried callin’ ‘em earlier, and got someone with the last name Martinez.”

“An’ this is their old number?”

“No, it’s their new one.” Stan dropped the piece of paper on the table and put his face in his hands, groaning loudly. “I called Ford and asked him.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know why,” Stan said angrily. “I don’t know why I tried callin’ ‘em before, and why I asked Ford fer the new number. It’s like yer folks have been tellin’ me. It’s for the best that I cut them outta my life.” He sighed and picked up the piece of paper again. “I don’t know why I keep doin’ this.”

“Look, Stan. I ain’t a psychologist. I can’t help ya.”

“Doubt it.”

“Ya want me to try, huh? Okay, I’ll try.” Lute took a deep breath. “Ya don’t want to call yer dad, right?”

“Oh, fuck no! I saw that asshole in April and that’s the last time I’m ever gonna see him.”

“Ya want to call yer mom.”

“…Yeah.”

“Why is it bad that ya want to talk to her?” Stan groaned again.

“I don’t know! Because she let my dad kick me out? Because she didn’t have the guts to show up fer my high school graduation?” At Stan’s outburst, Lute sighed.

“Okay then. Ya have some valid reasons. But ya still want to call her.”

“Yeah, I do. I miss her.”

“Then call her.” 

“What if my dad picks up?”

“Do ya want me to call fer ya?” Lute offered. Stan looked down at the numbers one last time. He swallowed.

“No. I’ll do it.” Lute patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. Stan stood and walked over to the phone. His hands trembled as he punched in the numbers. The phone rang.

_Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up._ Someone picked up the phone. _Shit!_

“Pines house,” a distinctive New Jersey drawl said. Stan’s heart, which had stopped, started again.

_Oh, thank god, it’s not Pops._

“M-mom?” There was a shuffle over the line. 

“Stanley?” his mom asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh! Stanley, my baby boy! I was hoping I’d hear from you. Dunno why…Stanford said you seem pretty happy with that southern family.”

“Y-yeah. The McGuckets are amazin’.” Stan looked over at Lute sitting on the couch as he said this. Lute winked at him. Stan stuck out his tongue, a trait he’d grown out of, but picked up again after repeated exposure to the youngest two McGuckets. 

“That’s good. I worry ‘bout you, y’know. My youngest, all the way in Arkansas. So, have you started college?”

“I’m not gonna go,” Stan replied, turning his back to Lute again and fiddling with the phone cord. “There’s enough fer me to do here without a piece of paper I spent a buncha money on. I don’t need a degree to shovel horse shit.” Ma Pines laughed. 

“Good. You haven’t changed. Well, you have. Definitely. I can tell just from your voice. Gotta cute little southern twang. But you’re still my Stanley.”

“Yeah, the McGuckets tried to get me to stop swearin’, but the youngest one always laughs when I swear, so there wasn’t enough motivation to dig me outta my ways.” 

“The youngest out of…?”

“Six.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of children. I had a hard enough time going through that whole thing _twice_. Can’t imagine six times. Unless, are any of them-” Stan knew what his mom was going to ask.

“No twins. No triplets. Apparently, no one in the history of the McGucket family has had more than one kid per pregnancy.”

“Huh. Strange.” She paused. “Maybe you’ll get that streak broken.” Stan blinked, confused.

“Uh, what?”

“Do you like any of the McGucket kids?”

“Well, I mean, I like all of ‘em. But Mom, do we have to talk ‘bout this? They’re practically my siblings at this point. Most of ‘em, at least,” Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“‘Most of them’? So you’re holding out for one or two of them, then. Hmm. Interesting.”

“Mom!”

“I want grandkids.”

“Shermy’s already had two kids!”

“I want more.”

“Mom!”

“Fine!” Someone tapped Stan on the shoulder. It was Ma McGucket. She handed him a notepad, with something written down. Stan skimmed it.

“You sure?” he mouthed to Ma McGucket. She nodded. Stan turned back to the phone. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do ya wanna maybe come down fer Christmas?” 

“Christmas? Did they convert you?”

“What? No, it’s just- Mrs. McGucket handed me a note and she wrote down ‘Christmas’ on it. They got me a lil menorah and stuff last year, though.”

“They got ya a menorah?”

“Yeah. Once they got over the shock of it. It was kinda funny, actually, how they reacted when I said I’d never been to church. Thought they were gonna have heart attacks.” Ma McGucket frowned at him. “So anyways, do ya wanna visit fer…the holidays? Ford is prob’ly gonna be here, so ya could see both of us at once,” Stan said, trying to sweeten the pot.

“I’d love to.”

“R-really?”

“Of course! I haven’t seen my babies in so long! Now, how ‘bout you give the phone to Mrs. McGucket, and she and I can work things out, okay?”

“Okay. See you soon.”

“Love you.”

“L-love you too.” Stan handed the phone to Ma McGucket, who began rapid-fire planning. Stan took a seat next to Lute on the couch.

“Aw, aren’t ya the good son,” Lute said teasingly. “‘Love you too’.” Stan shoved him roughly.

“Please. Yer ma still tucks ya in at night.”

“How do you know that?!”

“Harper told me.”

“Man, is he goin’ to get it,” Lute muttered.

“Oh, please. Like you’d kick yer own brother’s ass.”

“I’d kick yours.”

“You can try,” Stan said. Lute shoved him back.

“Boys, keep it down!” Ma McGucket said. “I’m tryin’ to coordinate things with Gigi.”

“Sorry,” Stan and Lute said together. 

“Want to go fer a ride?” Lute asked Stan. Stan shrugged.

“I’m game.”

 

“I put Hardtack out in the pasture this mornin’,” Lute told Stan as he saddled Tuesday. 

“Got it.” Stan walked out of the barn and began to look for his horse. He found Hardtack right away. “Uh, Lute?”

“Yeah?”

“Are Hardtack and Daisy doin’ what I think they’re doin’?” Lute exited the barn.

“Shoot!” He ran into the pasture, shouting at the two horses. Hardtack dismounted Daisy and galloped away. 

“What’s the big deal?” Stan asked. “I mean, they were just doin’ it. Animals do it all the time.”

“Daisy ain’t breedin’ stock. We’re s’pposed to user her fer shows and nothin’ else. That’s why we have Carla.”

“Oh.” Lute walked back to Stan.

“Hopefully, it don’t take. Horse breedin’ is tough.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know Daisy was in estrus, or we wouldn’t have left her unsupervised with Hardtack.”

“I’m gonna pretend I know what yer talkin’ about.”

“Horses go in estrus fer breedin’.”

“Like dogs in heat.”

“Exactly.” Lute looked at Daisy and shook his head again. “We’ll have to keep an eye on her. If it takes, there’s a lot we need to do to take care of her. Rather, a lot _you’ll_ do. _I’ll_ be back at college.”

“Great. I can always count on you,” Stan said drily. Lute patted him on the back.

“Let’s go chase down that horse of yours.”

 

**November 20, 1972**

The phone was picked up on the second ring.

“McGucket residence, Stan speakin’.”

“Stan?” Stan almost dropped the phone in surprise.

“Angie?!”

“Hey!”

“Holy shit, I- you-”

“I’ve been busy,” Angie said. Stan scoffed.

“Busy? Ya haven’t called since we dropped ya off in August! And whenever anyone tried to call you, yer roommate said ya weren’t around.” 

“Yeah.” Stan was pleased at Angie’s sheepish tone. 

_She just up and disappeared! She_ should _feel bad about that._

“But at least we get to see you soon,” he said. Angie was silent. “Thanksgiving? Did ya forget?”

“No…” Stan’s heart sunk.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I won’t make it home for Thanksgiving. That’s- that’s actually why I was calling. Something came up. I’m sorry.”

“What came up?”

“Just- I need some time.”

“What? Why?” 

“It’s of no consequence to you.” Stan frowned. 

“Angie, this isn’t like ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. It’s just…never mind. It’s nothing. Tell Ma and Pa I’m sorry. Have a good Thanksgiving.”

“Wait, no, don’t hang up!” Stan said desperately. 

“…Okay.” A few moments of silence passed. “Did you have something else you wanted to tell me?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Really?” She sounded intrigued. “I thought you were just trying to get me to stay on the line.”

“Well, maybe when I shouted, that’s what I was doin’. But no, I actually needed to tell ya somethin’. It’s about Daisy.”

“My horse? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, and so is her kid.” Angie didn’t say anything. “No, wait, that’s for a goat. Her foal.”

“She’s- she’s pregnant?”

“Yup.”

“But how?”

“When two horses get really horny,” Stan began. 

“I know how procreation works,” Angie interrupted.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t know how I was gonna finish that sentence. But uh, Lute wrote down a thing to explain what happened, lemme look for it.” Stan scanned his general vicinity. “Yeah, I dunno where it is, so I’m just gonna go with the way I understand what happened. Daisy went in heat-”

“Estrus.”

“-estrus early, so Hardtack ended up bein’ in the pasture with her.” Angie sighed.

“Great. Just great.” 

“Seriously, Angie, what’s goin’ on with you?”

“It- it doesn’t matter. Take good care of Daisy, will you? And…I’m sorry I’m being so strange. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She paused. “It was nice to talk to you, though.”

“Yeah. I’ve been talkin’ to Lute a lot lately, so, y’know...” He trailed off.

“Oh! You’ve been home alone, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not talk to Fidds or Ford?”

“I tried. They’re busy. Lute never is. I’m not one hundred percent sure that he’s _actually_ at college.” Angie laughed. 

“You might have a point there. Listen, I’m sorry I can’t make it home for Thanksgiving. I’ll see you at Christmas, though, right?”

“Yeah. Oh, real quick, how do ya feel ‘bout comin’ with me to pick up my mom?” Angie gasped.

“Yer mom is visitin’?” 

_She almost sounded normal just then._

“Yeah! And her flight comes in the same day as yours, so I figured ya could just come with me to another place at the airport and-”

“You’re rambling, Stan.”

_And it’s gone._

“Right. But, uh, I’ll see ya then.”

“Yes, you will.” A muffled voice said something on her end of the phone. “That’s my roommate, I got to go. Bye!”

“Bye.” After he had hung up the phone, Stan stared at it for a few seconds, confused.

_What the fuck is goin’ on with her?_

 

**October 13, 1973**

“Stanford, _what_ did ya put in my shampoo?” Stan demanded, storming into the living room. Everyone looked up.

“Oh, my,” Ma McGucket said mildly. Lute burst out laughing.

“Ya look like Violynn!” he wheezed. “Since ya won’t cut yer hair, it’s the same length _and_ color now!”

“Your hair supplies must have gotten mixed up with my experimental chemicals,” Ford said casually.

“Nuh-uh. This is straight-up sabotage, Sixer.”

“No less than you deserve after yesterday’s lewd comments,” Ford shot back.

“Oh, come on! It wasn’t _that_ bad.” Fiddleford opened his mouth to say something but closed it, opting to not get involved. Lute had finally stopped laughing. He wiped his tears of merriment away.

“Relax, Stan,” Lute said. “Ya make an excellent redhead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I meant to update "In Another World" before I updated this, but inspiration doesn't follow my plans.  
> This chapter has a bit of foreshadowing and a pretty nice hint, if I do say so myself. And don't you worry, we'll meet Ma Pines in the next chapter. I'm looking forward to having her meet all the McGuckets.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	7. Heart Lines and Family Ties

**December 16, 1972**

Stan scanned the crowd of people. 

_Where is she? I mean, she’s so damn short, who knows if I’d see her, anyways._ His eye was caught by a head of caramel-colored hair bobbing in the sea of people. _There she is!_

“Hey, Angie!” he shouted. The person stopped for a moment, then began to push her way through the crowd hurriedly. Angie emerged, slightly flustered but beaming. 

“Stan!” she yelled happily. She rushed forward, tackling him in an intense hug. “Lord, it’s been forever since I’ve seen ya!” Stan grinned. The unnerving conversation he’d had with her a month ago seemed like ancient history. 

_Maybe I was just imagining it. She’s still the same ole Angie, right?_ He blinked, suddenly noticing a change in her appearance.

“Somethin’s different,” he said slowly. Angie rolled her eyes.

“I chopped off a lil more ‘n half my hair and that’s all I get?” she asked teasingly. 

“Oh. That’s what it is. Yer hair’s shorter.” Angie rolled her eyes again and ran a hand through her bright almost orange-colored locks. When he’d last seen her in August, her hair had gone halfway down her back. Now, it didn’t quite reach her shoulders.

“Yeah, I got sick of havin’ to tie it back fer labs,” she said.

“Here, lemme carry yer suitcase,” Stan said, taking Angie’s luggage from her. 

“Thanks, Stan.”

“No problem. Now, we gotta get goin’. Ma’s plane lands in an hour, and I have no clue where her gate is.” 

“What number is it?”

“Twelve.”

“Oh, it’s just over here.” Angie pointed to the left. 

“Lead the way, Gucket.”

 

Angie sat next to Stan on one of the uncomfortable airport seats.

“Sorry I disappeared. I don’t trust airplane bathrooms, so I’ve needed to go almost since I left San Diego,” she said. Stan shrugged.

“Eh. Like I care. And like I can blame ya. So, uh, how was yer semester?” he asked Angie.

“It were all right. The folks at school are…dif’rent, but I learned how to use a microscope! Oh, and remind me later to tell Lute about surfin’.”

“Surfin’? What about it?”

“It’s still very much a work in progress, but I can be on a surfboard a whole five minutes now without fallin’ off. I want to brag a bit.” Stan chuckled.

“Yeah, I understand the whole ‘braggin’ to older brothers’ thing.” Stan paused to think. “Does havin’ a farmer’s tan count as somethin’ to brag ‘bout?” Angie laughed and punched him playfully.

“Yer just as funny as when I left.”

“Like I’d lose my sense of humor,” Stan retorted. “So, have ya made any friends?” he asked, digging around in his bag and taking something out. He began to idly pull at the ball of yarn Ma McGucket had given him as a distraction. 

“A few. I met this super nice person at a farmer’s market in October,” Angie replied. “Name’s Marley.”

“Nice. Does this ‘Marley’ go to West Coast Tech?”

“Uh, no. Marley goes to West Coast Institute of Art. Studies drawin’.”

“Huh.” Stan frowned. “Is Marley a he or a she?” Angie blinked. 

“…I’m not sure.”

“Anybody at West Coast Tech that ya like?” Stan asked. Angie shrugged. She joined him in casually pulling apart the yarn ball.

“There’s a girl in the biology program. She’s from Oklahoma.”

“That’s practically right next door to Arkansas. Right?”

“Yep! Yer gettin’ better at geography. She’s blonde, nice, a bit of a dork. Ford would prob’ly get a kick outta her.”

“What’s her name?” Angie frowned.

“Madeline or Adelaide or somethin’ like that.” 

“Ya don’t remember her name?”

“I’ve got other things to remember,” Angie said. 

“Stanley!” Stan and Angie looked up. Standing before them was a middle-aged woman with long hair, a large nose, and a commanding demeanor. Stan immediately jumped up. The woman rushed forward and enveloped him in an embrace. “Oh, my baby boy! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

“Yeah.” Ma Pines broke off the hug and looked Stan up and down.

“Lookit you! You’re getting so strong! My youngest is gonna be a buff, bold young man.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Angie snickered. Ma Pines looked over at her. “Is this lovely young lady your girlfriend?” Angie’s eyes widened.

“What did ya tell yer mom?” she hissed at Stan.

_Why are you offended? You were the one who had a crush on me!_

“Mom, no, this is Angie,” Stan said. “She’s the youngest of the McGucket children.” Angie stood up. 

“Pleased to meet ya, Mrs. Pines.”

“Aren’t you a proper southern girl,” Ma Pines said sweetly, pulling Angie into a hug.

“That’s how my folks raised me,” Angie said. 

“I certainly hope your family’s rubbed off on Stan. He never was one for manners.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am. Folks in my house have manners. He picked it up pretty quick after bein’ denied dessert a few times.” Ma Pines laughed.

“That sounds like my Stanley, all right. Only willing to change if he gets a treat outta the deal.”

“We should get goin’,” Stan said. “It’s an hour back to Gumption.” Angie nodded.

“I need to shower ‘n get the smell of San Diego offa me.”

 

**December 19, 1972**

“Who wants a palm reading?” Ma Pines asked the crowded living room. Within the last two days, all of the McGucket siblings except for Fiddleford had arrived, along with their significant others, and in Violynn’s case, her children. Violynn shook her head.

“I ain’t doin’ anythin’ that makes me get up,” she said firmly. At eight months pregnant, she was determined to move as little as possible.

“Stan gave us palm readin’s last year,” Harper said. He rolled his eyes. “Still think mine was a rip-off.” Ma Pines shook her head.

“Stan has the gift, but he doesn’t know how to use it properly.” Stan shrugged.

“I told everyone that I don’t know how to do it right, but they didn’t listen.”

“I’ll get a palm readin’,” Angie piped up. Ma Pines beamed. 

“Come over here, then, hon.” Angie did as she was told, and held out her hand. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Like it always did when she began a reading, the room seemed to lean in and focus on the two women. Stan knew it was an illusion, that his ma was just an excellent con who could take control of a room easily. But it was hard to shake the feeling that the universe itself was listening intently. Ma Pines traced a line down the middle of Angie’s palm and began to speak in her fortune-teller voice. 

“I can see that you’re a very intelligent girl. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. Your head line is similar to Stanford’s, and goodness knows that boy will change the world.” She moved an elegant finger over to another part on Angie’s hand. “Your heart line is strong. You’ll fall in love once, and only once. It might take a while, but it’ll stick.” Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

_Man, I woulda thought mom would at least say some new things for the McGuckets. I’ve heard all this before. Pretty sure mom’s used some of it on me, actually._

“Can ya tell me anythin’ ‘bout the person I’ll fall in love with?” Angie asked eagerly.

“I can. But I think I should let you figure that out on your own. It’s no fun when someone tells you how your entire life’ll play out.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Ma Pines continued to trace Angie’s palm.

“There’s a circle in your life line,” Ma Pines said quietly. 

“Is- is that bad?” Angie asked.

“It indicates that you’ll be hospitalized. A life-threatening injury will hit you in ten years.”

“…Oh.”

“But it’s nicely long and deep. You’ll have a long, adventurous life.” Ma Pines frowned. “Looks like you have a fate line. Not everyone does. Let’s see what it says.” She tilted her head. “It breaks and changes direction some, like Stan’s. An outside force is manipulating your path.” Angie’s eyes widened. “But it crosses your life line, so despite that, you’ll always be supported by your family.”

“Is- is that it?”

“Yep! Oh, one more thing. Don’t hide who you are. If you do that long enough, you’ll forget what your true self is like.” Angie ducked her head, apparently cowed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pines.” Angie slid her hand out of Ma Pines’ and sat on the couch next to Stan again. “That was intense,” she whispered. Stan nodded.

“Mom’s predictions always are.”

“Anyone else?” Ma Pines asked. Lute jumped up.

“I’m game.” He sat in the seat Angie had vacated. Once more, the room quieted and focused on Ma Pines.

“Your heart line indicates that you have a good handle on your emotions, young man,” she started.

 

**December 23, 1972**

Ma Pines bounced Cellory on her knee. The toddler giggled happily. 

“I haven’t been around nearly enough babies lately,” Ma Pines said to Ma McGucket. Ma McGucket nodded.

“Well, yer welcome to visit any time, Gigi. Durin’ the holidays, there’s always babies here. Can’t really help it, what with havin’ such a large fam’ly and all.” 

“This one’s got perfectly chubby cheeks,” Ma Pines cooed at Cellory. 

“All McGuckets do.”

“So do Pines babies.” Ma Pines turned to Stan. “That reminds me, when’s that twin of yours gonna be here?” she asked her youngest. 

“How did talkin’ ‘bout babies remind you of that?” Stan asked.

“‘Cause you’re my baby.” Lute and Angie, who were sitting on the floor coloring with Layla, snickered. Stan glowered at the youngest two McGuckets. 

“Dunno. Ford and Fidds should be here any minute.” As if on cue, the front door opened.

“Now, don’t forget, Stanford.” Fiddleford’s voice carried from the entryway to the living room. “Shoes go in the basket.”

“I remember,” Ford said. Ma Pines handed Cellory to Stan. While Stan struggled to get a proper grip on the giggling, squirming toddler, his mom left the living room to greet Ford. 

“Stan, she’ll end up upside down if ya hold her like that,” Angie said briskly, getting up and helping Stan adjust his hold properly. Cellory giggled and squeezed Stan’s nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got a clown nose. Very funny,” Stan said drily. “Violynn, I hate to break it to ya, but I don’t think Cellory’ll make it as a comedian. She’s usin’ obvious jokes.”

“And they’re very derivative,” Fiddleford said, joining everyone in the living room.

“Fidds!” Angie said happily, abandoning Stan to embrace her older brother. Stan fumbled with Cellory a couple more times, eventually handing the toddler to her mother after being poked in the eye twice. 

“Why, look at yer hair!” Fiddleford said kindly. Angie beamed. “I like it.”

“It’s more convenient now, too.” Fiddleford patted his younger sister on the shoulder.

“I can’t wait to catch up with ya and everyone else, but I got to put my stuff in my room first.”

“Oh, Fidds?” Ma McGucket asked before he could leave the room.

“Yes, Ma?”

“If Ford stays in yer room, can ya promise there won’t be no hanky-panky? Gigi’s in the guest room, after all.” Fiddleford turned red.

“Ma!”

“I have to ask,” Ma McGucket said. “I know how college kids are, even ones raised in a proper Catholic household.”

“What’s this about hanky-panky?” Ma Pines asked, walking into the living room. Ford was just behind her, frantically rubbing the lipstick kiss marks left on his cheeks. 

“Folks what are datin’ can sometimes get out of hand,” Harper said. Ma Pines frowned.

“Dating? Stanford’s not dating anyone.” Stan looked over at Ford. Ford’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers. Stan could practically hear the screaming going on in his twin’s mind.

“…Oh. Of course not,” Harper said. Ma Pines frowned and turned to Stanford.

“Stanford, are you dating someone?” Ford looked down at his shoes. “Stanford Filbrick Pines, answer me.”

“Y-yes, mom.” Ma Pines crossed her arms.

“Who?”

“F-Fiddleford.” Ma Pines looked over at the McGuckets.

“As in one of the sons belonging to family that took Stan in?”

“…Yes,” Ford said quietly. Ma Pines took a deep breath. She began to tap her fingers on her arms; the red nail polish stood out starkly against her pale skin. 

“I suppose all I can say right now is that I’m glad you found someone.” Ford’s head jerked up. He and Stan stared at their mother, flabbergasted. 

_Holy shit, what made mom change her mind about homosexuals like that?_ Stan looked over at Ma McGucket. She winked at him. _Damn, Sally’s good._

“I won’t say much else, though,” Ma Pines continued.

_Okay, it’s not perfect, but I feel like Ford’ll take it._

“No, wait, there’s one other thing,” Ma Pines said. She pointed a finger at Ford. “Like Sally said, there better not be any hanky-panky.”

 

**December 27, 1972**

“Yer ma’s pretty talented,” Lute said, walking into the barn, where Stan was doing his morning chores. Stan grunted. “I mean, some of the stuff she predicted…”

“Mom’s an excellent con artist, that’s all it is,” Stan said. “She just told y’all what ya wanted to hear.” Lute raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t think Angie wanted to hear that she would end up in the hospital. Or that Basstian wanted to hear that his marriage to Amy’ll fail.”

“What did she say after she gave ‘em ‘bad news’?” 

“That things would get better,” Lute said reluctantly. 

“Exactly,” Stan said.

“Are ya just bitter ‘cause ya were too nervous to ask fer a fortune?”

“Please. I’ve had my fortune told by mom I think thirty times. And each time, it’s been dif’rent.”

“Well, did ya hear what yer ma predicted when she read Fiddleford’s palm?”

“What?” Stan asked.

“I was askin’ ya ‘cause _I_ didn’t know,” Lute said grumpily. He joined Stan in tossing hay. “All I caught was the tail end, when she was givin’ him some advice.”

“What’d she say?”

“‘The friend of your friend is not always a friend of yours’,” Lute said. Stan frowned. 

“The hell does that mean?”

 

**November 20, 1973**

“Oh, Shenandoah…”

_The fuck…?_ Stan frowned. _Who’s still up? It’s three am._ He finished opening his door the rest of the way and wandered into the hall. _I got up to take a piss, but before I can go back to bed, I gotta find out who the hell is singing at ass o’clock._ The singing had segued into gentle humming, and was coming from upstairs. Stan walked up to the second floor, carefully avoiding the two creaky steps. He looked around. Light was trickling around the edges of Angie’s door. _Oh, geez, Angie._ He walked more confidently towards her room and opened the door abruptly, but quietly. She was sitting at her desk, and didn’t seem to have heard him. She muttered something and turned a page.

“God, Ford rubbed off on ya. Why are ya studyin’ at three in the mornin’?” Stan asked casually. Angie yelped and, in a movement so fast he could barely see it, grabbed something and shoved it in one of the drawers. 

“Stanley, knock!” Stan walked over to her desk and opened the drawer she had just put the item in.

“What are ya hidin’? Weed?”

“What? No!” Stan looked down at the open drawer and frowned. He picked up the pair of glasses, examining them.

“Did ya steal Fiddleford’s readin’ glasses?”

“Of course not!” 

“Huh, yeah, they don’t look like his. Whose are they?” Angie drummed her fingers against the desk.

“If ya must know…they’re mine.”

“Yours? But ya have perfect eyesight!”

“Until I spent hours starin’ through a microscope.” Angie grabbed the glasses from him. “It ain’t that bad, I only need ‘em if I’m readin’ fer an extended period of time.”

“Your parents never told me ya got glasses.” Angie set the glasses down and looked away nervously.

“They don’t know.”

“You got glasses and didn’t tell your folks? Damn, Angie, college changed ya.”

“I just- I don’t know why I didn’t tell them. But I got the glasses, and I almost never need ‘em, and it’s no big deal, nothin’ fer anyone to be worried ‘bout.”

“Now Lute’s the only one that doesn’t need glasses.”

“He wears contacts, Stan.”

“…Oh.” Angie sighed.

“I guess I was hopin’ that I could avoid gettin’ corrective lenses until I’m old and gray.”

“I highly doubt you’ll ever be gray.” Angie rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d always be a brunet. And then ya pissed off Ford an’ he put somethin’ in yer shampoo.” Stan ran a hand through his bright red locks.

“He said it should wear off.”

“How long has it been?”

“A month. So who knows when I’ll be back to normal.” Angie cocked her head and looked at him. 

“I don’t know. Ya look nice with red hair.” She winked at him. “I like redheads.” Stan’s stomach turned over at her casual compliment. He felt his face begin to flush slightly.

“Y-yeah.” Angie looked at him for a couple more seconds, then put her glasses back on and turned her attention to her textbook.

“I gotta finish this, but I’ll talk to ya in the mornin’, okay?”

“Yeah.” Stan walked out of her room and leaned against the wall next to her door. His heart was still racing from his interaction with her.

_Since when have I gotten weak-kneed from a compliment?_ He rubbed a hand across his face. _No, it wasn’t just any compliment. It was a compliment from Angie. God, please don’t let this turn into something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four things: 1) I did research into palm reading for this chapter. 2) I referenced one of the better known Gravity Falls OCs in this chapter. 3) I've had the last bit written for months. 4) Ma Pines _will_ eventually return.  
>  I hope you guys enjoyed it! Sorry there wasn't much holiday stuff in this chapter. I feel like I covered most of the McGucket traditions in "Stanley McGucket".  
> Happy Holidays!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	8. Crushed

**September 8, 1972**

The phone picked up on the second ring.

“Lute, somethin’ just happened,” Stan said without preamble. Lute sighed.

“Stan, it’s 3 am.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So…never mind, what’s goin’ on?” Lute said idly. 

“I just got home.”

“Geez, where were ya? None of the bars in Gumption stay open past one.”

“I was at someone else’s house.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lute said. He now sounded wide awake. “Someone else’s house? Ya can’t mean that-”

“I got laid, man,” Stan whispered, trying to not be overheard by anyone else in the house.

_Even though Sally and Mearl are both asleep._

“Nice. Was it that girl, Alyssa?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“Some biker.”

“Some biker?!”

“Yes. His name’s Jimmy Snakes.”

“Wait. _His_ name?”

“…Yeah.”

“Oh, Lord.” Lute paused. “Wait, there ain’t any bikers in Gumption. At least, none with houses.”

“I wasn’t at his house.”

“Who’s house _were_ ya- never mind. I don’t want to know. Seems to me like this is the sorta thing I could be an accessory to if I know too much.”

“Lute…”

“That’s a interestin’ way to come out,” Lute said.

“What?”

“Yer callin’ me to tell me yer a homosexual, right?”

“No!”

“Stan,” Lute started.

“I’m not homosexual,” Stan protested. There was a sigh over the phone.

“Ya just called to tell me about yer one-night stand with another man,” Lute said in a patient, but slightly irritated voice. “There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ a homosexual.”

“I’m not, though!” Stan insisted. “I like girls _and_ guys. That’s- that’s not what a homosexual is, is it?” There was a long silence. “Uh, Lute?”

“I heard this word a couple times at school,” Lute said slowly. “Well, it ain’t the most acceptin’ school in the world, but that don’t mean we don’t get all sorts of God’s children here. And a couple of ‘em have used this word to talk ‘bout themselves. ‘Bisexual’.” Stan mouthed the word to himself.

“What does it mean?”

“The folks what use it, they’ve had girlfriends _and_ boyfriends ‘fore. Now, I can’t tell ya how to feel or what words to call yourself, but it seems like that might fit ya.” 

“There’s- there’s a word?”

“Yep.” A weight Stan hadn’t known he was carrying lifted from his shoulders.

“There’s a word,” he repeated quietly.

“Yup,” Lute said, tiredness beginning to seep into his voice. “Look, I’d love to chat more with ya, but I’ve got an exam in the mornin’. So I just have one more question fer ya.”

“Yeah?”

“While you were with bikers, ya didn’t get any tattoos you’ll regret later, did ya?”

 

**April 1, 1973**

The phone picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, this is Sharon speaking, who’s calling?” 

“Angie’s fam’ly,” Ma McGucket replied. “Can we talk to her?”

“Ugh. Yeah, sure.” Sharon covered the mouthpiece, but Stan and Ma and Pa McGucket could hear her talking to Angie. “McBucket, it’s for you.” Angie sighed, softly enough that Stan could barely make out the sound of resignation.

“Thanks, Sharon.”

“Yeah, whatever, just take the damn phone already so that I can go to class.” There was shuffling over the line.

“Hello?” Angie said hesitantly.

“Happy birthday, baby girl!” Ma McGucket said.

“Can’t believe yer finally an adult, junebug,” Pa McGucket added on.

“Yeah, all the things they already said,” Stan said.

“Y’all called me?!” Angie said happily. “Ya didn’t need to!” 

“Of course we did! It’s yer birthday,” Ma McGucket said. 

“What’s up with yer roommate?” Stan asked. “She seemed like a bi- uh…” Stan trailed off as he caught Ma McGucket’s look. “A…bit mean,” he finished weakly.

“Sharon? We ain’t gettin’ along very well,” Angie replied. “I’m thinkin’ I’ll need to look fer a new roommate soon.” 

“That’s a shame,” Pa McGucket said. “Why?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Angie said. Pa McGucket checked his watch. 

“Shoot! I got to get goin’. Sorry, junebug.”

“It’s okay, Pa.”

“I have to do some stuff fer my teachin’ job,” Ma McGucket added. 

“Bye, Ma, Pa,” Angie said.

“Bye, sweetie. Happy birthday.” 

“So I guess it’s just you and me, Stan,” Angie said. Stan turned the phone off speaker and put it up to his ear.

“Yep. Nice to hear you soundin’ normal again, by the way.”

“Whattaya mean?”

“Last coupla times we’ve called, you haven’t sounded like yourself,” Stan said. Angie scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

“I figured out what it was. You’ve been droppin’ yer accent at school, haven’t ya?”

“What?! No, I would never do that! I’m proud to be southern,” Angie said defensively. 

“Don’t bother lying to me,” Stan said. Angie huffed.

“Fine. Yer right. It’s just- there’s so many snooty rich folks here, and they kept messin’ with me ‘cause of my accent. It was the only way to get ‘em off my back.”

“And that’s why you’ve been actin’ so weird at college?”

“Part of it, yeah.”

“Is the other part the reason yer roommate hates you?”

“I don’t know why Sharon decided to-”

“Angie, seriously. Yer not a good liar. So what’s the _real_ reason you’re gonna need to get a new roommate?” Stan asked. “You guys got along really well at first.” Angie hesitated. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“I sometimes forget that my folks ain’t most people,” she said softly. “That they’re more acceptin’ and understandin’ than the average person.”

“What are ya gettin’ at?”

“Sharon saw me kissin’ a girl and blew her gasket,” Angie said in a rush. Stan’s jaw dropped.

“Whoa whoa whoa. You kissed a girl?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I could? And Hannah’s _so_ pretty. And smart. She’s in my chemistry class, y’know.”

“Are you dating?”

“We haven’t really moved past the initial kiss,” Angie said awkwardly. “Sharon walked into the room and yelled at us, so that kind of ruined the mood.”

“That is a hell of a mood killer.”

“But maybe it’s a good thing that Sharon saw. I mean, I don’t want a roommate like Sharon, who hates folks what aren’t the usual kind of person. And this way, I can get an apartment or somethin’. Maybe with that person who I met last semester.”

“Marley?”

“Yeah! The only downside of roomin’ with Marley is that they sometimes smell like spiders.”

“Still usin’ ‘they’, huh?”

“I’m too nervous to ask if Marley’s a boy or girl!” Angie said insistently. 

“Hey, I ain’t judgin’ ya.”

“Don't know if I believe that."

“Anyways, are ya excited to come home for the summer?”

“Yes! Bein’ ‘round all these snooty folks is so drainin’. I’m ready to come back to Gumption.”

“Good. I mean, it’s not like I’ve missed ya or anything, but it’ll be nice to have ya back,” Stan said gruffly. Angie laughed.

“Yer a funny man, Stanley Pines. Don’t bother tryin’ to hide it, I know yer a softie.” There was some noise on her end. “Oh! That’s Hannah, at the door. I should get it.”

“Do that. Take her on a nice date or somethin’, too.”

“Stan!”

“Hey, I’m just tryin’ to help ya out. Bye, Angie.”

“Bye, Stan.”

 

**November 18, 1973**

Loud knocking on his door woke Stan up.

“Who is it?” he grumbled sleepily.

“Angie.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a lot of Gucklings out here that all want to see the new foal, an’ I want to see her, too,” Angie replied. Stan sat up. 

_What’s a Guckling? Wait, that’s what the McGuckets call their kids, right?_

“All right, all right, gimme a sec,” Stan replied, fumbling out of bed and pulling on the clothes he’d worn yesterday. He opened the door, and as she’d said, Angie was standing in the hallway, surrounded by a small crowd of young McGuckets. 

“Howdy, Stan!” the Gucklings said, more or less together. Stan squinted at them.

“Did ya practice that?”

“That ain’t important,” the oldest of the Gucklings, a girl with red hair and glasses too large for her face said. “What’s important is that there’s a filly what we haven’t seen yet.” 

“Yeah, okay, come on then. Follow me.” The Gucklings cheered as they followed him outside. On the way to the barn, multiple children got close enough to Stan that they stepped on the backs of his heels. The fourth time this happened, Angie intervened.

“Gucklings, ya know the rules. Don’t nip at folks’ feet. It ain’t proper.” 

“We’re just excited ‘bout seein’ the lil horsie is all,” the oldest Guckling, who had apparently been chosen as their spokesperson, said.

“Heatherbelle, it don’t matter,” Angie said firmly. “Take a step back.” 

“No point,” Stan said. He opened the barn door. “We’re here.” The Gucklings poured into the barn eagerly. 

“Gucklings, don’t crowd ‘round the foal, okay?” Angie called. “‘Member, be nice to the animals!” She winced as one of her cousins knocked over a pitchfork. “Stan, ya might want to go-”

“On it,” Stan said, already moving through the crowd of children to the stall where Daisy and her foal were. He stopped in front of it. “Okay, first off, some rules. No one goes in the stall except fer me and Angie.”

“Aww,” the Gucklings whined.

“Second, don’t make any loud noises.” Stan beckoned Angie over. She moved carefully amidst the sea of small children, picking up a few and setting them down. Once Angie had joined him in front of the stall, Stan resumed talking. “Third, I don’t want to hear people smack-talkin’ what I named the foal.”

“What did ya name it?” one of the younger McGuckets, a blonde girl named Gidget, asked. 

“Staniel.”

“Staniel?” Angie asked. 

“Yeah. What’s wrong with the name?”

“Fer one thing, I thought it was a filly.”

“So? I was there when she was born, I get to name it. Your fam’ly’s rules,” Stan said stubbornly. Angie sighed. 

“Fair enough. A horse givin’ birth ain’t the nicest thing in the world to watch, after all.”

“Auntie Angie, when do we get to see the filly?” Layla asked. 

“Right now,” Stan replied, opening the door to the stall. He and Angie blocked the Gucklings from entering. The Gucklings cooed at the sight of Daisy and the new foal.

“Stan, ya didn’t mention she was a perlino,” Angie said softly. Stan looked at her. She was gazing at Daisy and Staniel with wide, adoring eyes.

“What’s a perlino?”

“The kind of colorin’ Staniel has,” Angie replied, moving into the stall and stroking her horse. 

“I’ve been callin’ it a reverse palomino,” Stan said. Angie shook her head. 

“Stan, ya really don’t know much ‘bout horses.” She wrapped an arm around Daisy’s neck and kissed her. “Good work, girl. She’s beautiful,” she whispered to her horse. Daisy nickered in response. Stan smiled faintly at Angie’s kind-heartedness.

“Checkin’ on yer grandchild, huh?” a voice interrupted. Stan and Angie turned. At some point, Lute had joined the Gucklings still crowding around the stall. Angie frowned. 

“Grandchild? Whattaya mean, Lute?”

“Well, Staniel over there is Hardtack and Daisy’s foal.”

“So?”

“Hardtack is Stan’s, Daisy is yours. Therefore, Staniel’s yer grandchild,” Lute explained. Angie rolled her eyes.

“Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout, Lute.”

“Sure I do.”

“I think ya just got bucked offa Tuesday a few too many times,” Angie said dismissively, returning to the front of the stall and punching Lute on the arm. She and Lute walked away. The Gucklings followed them. 

Stan watched them leave, a warm feeling spreading throughout his chest.

 

**December 13, 1973**

Stan grumbled in frustration as he tried on the cowboy hat he’d gotten for his 18th birthday from the McGuckets. He huffed at his reflection, dissatisfied. 

_This ain’t working._ Lute appeared in the mirror behind him.

“Hey! The bathroom’s _ocupado_ , McGucket.”

“Ya know what yer doin’, right?” Lute said, ignoring him. Stan sighed.

“What?”

“Yer puttin’ blankets on the horse ‘til ya can’t tell it’s ugly no more.”

“Oh, so now I’m ugly?”

“It’s a sayin’, Stan. It means yer tryin’ to cover up somethin’ so that folks can’t see it. In this case, it’s yer red hair.”

“What’s yer point?” Stan asked tiredly.

“Ya don’t like havin’ red hair, fair enough. You’d rather have yer brown hair again.”

“Yeah…”

“I can help ya.”

“Really?” Stan turned, so that he was no longer talking to Lute’s reflection. “And how exactly are ya gonna do that? Even those damn geniuses we’re related to couldn’t figure somethin’ out.” Lute grinned. He held up a razor.

“Just got to use this on yer hair.” Stan clamped his hands down over his head.

“No. Uh-uh. You are _not_ gonna shave me!”

“Oh, come on! It’ll solve the problem! Yer hair’ll grow back brown.” Lute got a pensive look on his face. “Unless Ford’s weird concoction was strong enough to make ya a redhead fer life.”

“No shaving! It’ll wash out, Ford said so. Now, get outta the bathroom, I gotta take a piss.” Stan shoved the much smaller McGucket out of the room and closed the door. He looked at his redheaded reflection. 

_It’s not that bad, is it?_ He picked up the cowboy hat, which Lute had knocked onto the floor at some point during their conversation. Stan carefully put it on. _Nope. It’s worse._ He slammed his head onto the bathroom counter and groaned loudly.

“The razor’s still in there, if ya want to use it!” Lute shouted through the bathroom door.

“Go away, Lute!”

“Fine.” Stan listened carefully, making sure he heard Lute walk away. Once Lute was actually gone, he sighed heavily. 

“It’s pointless. There’s no fixin’ it ‘fore Angie gets back,” he told himself. 

_Why do I care about getting my hair back to normal before she gets back? No, I know why. It’s because my stupid knucklehead of a heart decided to make me have a crush on someone who probably only thinks of me as a brother. Because I turned her down once already!_ He groaned and slammed his head down on the counter again. _God, is this how Angie felt? This is awful! No wonder she acted so weird around me!_

“If only the people who would be willing to talk to me about girls weren’t related to her,” Stan muttered. “There’s no point in callin’ Ford…he doesn’t understand girls at all. I have to decide on my own what to do ‘bout this.”

_Should I make a move?_

 

**December 15, 1973**

Stan turned up the radio, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. He was almost to Little Rock, and Angie’s plane would be landing at the airport there any minute now. A grin spread across his face.

_God, it’s been only two weeks, but it feels like forever since I’ve seen her._ He could picture her perfectly: the bright caramel-colored hair, the sparkle in her intelligent blue eyes, her innate gracefulness, and her boundless enthusiasm and energy. _Last time we heard from her, she was nervous about her finals. Hope they went well._ He hummed along with the radio eagerly. _Can’t wait to see her face again, give her a hug, walk around the farm, sit down and chat._ Stan had a sudden image of sitting on the pasture fence, Angie next to him. He had an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and they both leaned in…

Stan suddenly jerked the steering wheel roughly, swerving the Stanleymobile. He regained control of the car, panting slightly. He checked his mirrors.

_No one else is on this road. Good._ He swallowed. _Chill, Stanley. Don’t think about how pretty she is, or the way her eyes light up when she starts talking about salamanders, or her cute voice that she hates so much._ He groaned. _Shit._

 

**January 3, 1974**

“Stan, could ya help me out?” Angie asked, opening the front door.

“Uh, I s’pose. Whattaya need help with?” Stan asked, getting up from the couch. Angie blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. 

“I’m s’posed to take down the mistletoe, but I’m too darn short to reach the one on the porch.”

“Comin’.”

“Thanks. And please hurry, would ya? It’s cold out here!”

Stan joined Angie on the porch. The screen door slammed shut behind him. Their breath misted into clouds in the wintry night. Angie shivered, hugging herself in an attempt to stay warm. Stan couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes glimmered in the dim porch light, and how her hair seemed to catch the crisp moonlight just beyond the porch lamp’s reach. 

“It ain’t that cold,” Stan said idly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Angie rolled her eyes. “There ain’t even snow on the ground! And durin’ the holidays!”

“That’s how it is some years. We don’t always have a white Christmas.” 

“So, where is it?” Stan asked finally, after a few moments of silence.

“Where is what?”

“The mistletoe.”

“Oh, right. It’s over there.” Angie pointed at a bunch of mistletoe, dangling from the eaves. He walked over to it. 

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I can get it down,” he said slowly. “But it’d be a shame.”

“Why?” Angie asked, joining him underneath the mistletoe. 

“I didn’t see anyone kiss under it. Takin’ it down now would be a waste.” Angie looked at him suspiciously.

“What are ya gettin’ at?”

“I’m gettin’ at this.” Stan moved closer toward her. Instinctively, picking up on his body language and a subconscious desire of her own, Angie leaned in as well, and they met in the middle.

As they kissed, the first snow began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me forever and a day to update. This is a chapter that I was really nervous about posting (particularly due to the last scene), and I kept editing it, to make sure it was good. What do you guys think; was the tweaking worth it?  
> Also, I apologize for how I've been jumping around the timeline so much in the last few chapters. This chapter is the last one where it happens. Well, except for a scene at the beginning of the next chapter, but that's a different kettle of fish.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	9. The Stan Pines Dating Technique

**Summer 2012 – Gravity Falls**

Everyone fell to the ground with a _thud_. Stan looked around frantically, checking on Soos and the kids. There was some groaning as they got to their feet, but no one seemed to be hurt.

_Good. I don’t know what I’d do if they got hurt under my watch._

“Who- who is that?” Dipper asked, staring at the man that had come through the portal. 

“The author of the journals: my brother,” Stan replied solemnly.

“Wait, _what_?” Stan looked over at the person that had spoken. Emily was standing protectively in front of her cousins and Soos. Like the others, she stared at Ford intensely. She frowned. “That’s not Uncle Shermie,” she said to Stan. 

“Y-you’re right,” Stan said. “This is your Uncle Ford.” He walked over to his twin and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Stan could feel tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes. “Stanford, you’re fin’lly back,” he choked out. He didn’t see the fist coming.

Next thing he knew, he was on the ground. Someone was shouting. He heard the distinctive sound of a fist connecting with a face. Ford fell to the ground nearby, a black eye already forming.

_He fuckin’ deserves it._

“Dad!” Stan looked up. Emily was crouching next to him, concern etched in her bright blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, pumpkin.” He took the offered hand and stood up. “Did ya punch him?”

“Yeah.” Stan grinned.

“That’s my girl.” 

“Of course your daughter would punch me,” Ford grumbled. 

“Hey, you punched me first! Emily was just goin’ with what she was told growin’ up. She was protectin’ her fam’ly.”

“Emily?” Ford looked up. His eyes widened at the sight of his niece. “Geez, Stan, didn’t you say you only wanted two kids?”

“Changed my mind.” Stan nodded at Emily. “Go ahead and help him up.” Emily shot a grin his way. 

“You and yer back,” she said teasingly, letting the bit of southern accent she’d picked up show. She grabbed one of Ford’s hands, almost dropping him when she noticed the extra finger. “Yer a polydactyl!”

“Yes, I am.”

“Must run in the fam’ly.” Ford chuckled. 

“That it does.” Ford glanced over at the kids and Soos. “Grandkids of yours?”

“No, they’re Shermie’s.” Stan huffed and crossed his arms. “Mine thought that summer camp sounded better than time with Grampa Stan.” 

“Wait, Dad, you said that this is my Uncle Ford,” Emily said, frowning at Stan. “The same Uncle Ford that died in a lab accident?”

“Yeah, minus the dead part,” Stan replied. 

“Dude, I didn’t know Mr. Pines had a brother,” Soos whispered to Dipper and Mabel. Dipper gasped.

“Oh my gosh, _you’re_ the Author!” he shouted. Ford blinked owlishly. “You wrote about the mysteries and secrets of Gravity Falls!”

“You’ve read my journals?” Ford asked.

“Read them? I’ve _lived_ them!” Ford’s face creased in worry.

“That seems incredibly unsafe.”

“Hey, I tried to stop ‘em,” Stan protested. Dipper turned on him.

“That’s right, you knew who the Author was this entire time, didn’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“You lied to us for the entire summer!”

“A summer?” Emily scoffed. “I just found out he’s been lying to me my _whole life_. My own dang dad. Heck, _both_ my parents lied. Again, my entire flippin’ life.”

“Yer mom didn’t lie,” Stan said.

“What?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know about the death machine in the basement?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Emily asked. Stan sighed.

“Because I told her that it wasn’t functional, that it was broken down.” Emily crossed her arms, scowling at her father. 

“Man, are you gonna get it when Ma gets back.”

“Grunkle Stan, why wouldn’t you tell your wife?” Mabel asked. Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“That’s a long story.”

“It’s a story I’d like to hear,” Emily said, jutting her chin out firmly. “I think I deserve to know. And so do my cousins.”

“Yeah!” Dipper said. Stan held up his hands defensively.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk. It all started a lifetime ago…”

 

**January 3, 1974**

Stan broke off the kiss as something occurred to him. He looked at Angie. Her face was pink and she was visibly flustered.

“Wait, you’re not datin’ that girl Hannah still, are ya?” he asked. Angie shook her head. “Good.” He leaned in again. Angie backed away from him.

“Stan, what are ya doin’?” she asked. 

“Kissin’ ya.”

“No, I get that, I just- why?”

“What?”

“Why now? Ya broke my heart two years ago, Stanley. Ya said ya didn’t like me in that way.” Stan shrugged.

“Things changed.” 

“What?”

“I dunno. But I _do_ know that I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya.” He took a hold of one of her hands. Angie looked at him warily. “Gimme a chance.” A flicker of emotion he recognized crossed her face. Longing. It vanished so quickly that it made him wonder if he’d seen it.

“It’s late. I should go to bed.” She slid her hand out of his and walked inside. Stan watched the door slam shut. 

“Shit. I fucked up. Goddammit.” He sat down on the porch’s bench and put his head in his hands. “Idiot!”

“I mean, ya prob’ly shouldn’t be kissin’ random girls who have four very protective older brothers, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call ya that,” a voice said. Stan looked up. Violynn was standing in front of him.

“You saw that.” It was a statement, not a question. Violynn nodded anyways.

“Yessir. Now, scooch.” Stan obliged, and she took a seat next to him. “It’s a good thing Lute didn’t see ya. He goes ballistic.”

“I know. Angie told me.”

“Do ya like her?”

“Yes!” Stan said vehemently. Violynn sighed.

“Ya got to be patient, then. She had her heart broken by ya. Angie’s been tryin’ to move on since then, and ya kissin’ her fer a second time is goin’ to make her struggle with her plans a bit.”

“Second time?”

“I saw the first time.” Stan groaned.

“At graduation?”

“Yep.”

“Great. Ugh.”

“Violynn, Layla’s askin’ fer ya!” someone called from inside the house. Violynn patted Stan’s knee kindly. 

“I got to go. But give her some time. Talk to her tomorrow.” 

“…Yeah. Thanks, ‘Lynn.” Violynn winked at him and went back inside. The door opened again. “Are ya back to give me more advice?”

“No.” Stan looked over at the speaker. It was Lute, anger practically rolling off of him in waves. 

“Oh, hey man. What’s goin’ on?”

“Come walk with me, will ya?” Lute asked in a barely controlled voice. Stan eyed him suspiciously.

“Uh, sure.” 

 

Stan followed Lute into the barn. Lute closed the barn doors and leaned against one of the stalls. He was still clearly furious, but it was a bit difficult to make him out in the barn lanterns’ dim light.

“So,” Lute said in a tight voice. “Yer sniffin’ ‘round my sister.”

“What?”

“I heard you and Violynn talkin’ ‘bout it! Stanley Pines, ya kissed Angie tonight!” Stan took a step back, startled by Lute’s rage.

“Whoa, hey, relax. Lute, yer my brother, remember?” he said, attempting to assuage Lute. Lute closed his eyes.

“Yer right. Ya are. But I’m Angie’s brother. I’ve got to protect her honor. I’ve got to protect her from gettin’ hurt, emotionally or physically. I love ya, but Angie’s got top priority. She’s...she’s my baby sister. I watched her take her first steps, stood up fer her at school, helped her with her homework.” Lute opened his eyes, but looked away from Stan. “Her heart got broke two years ago by a man who I’ve accepted into the fam’ly as my brother. An’ tonight, I watched the same man start to do it again.”

“I didn’t enjoy turning Angie down,” Stan said defensively. “It was fuckin’ terrible. I felt awful afterwards. I didn’t mean to make her so sad.”

“Well, ya did,” Lute shot at him. “I heard her cryin’ her eyes out ‘cause of it. It- it hurt me real bad to know that you, someone I trust and care about, made my baby sister so goldarn upset. I ain’t goin’ to let it happen again.”

“It won’t.” Lute eyed Stan suspiciously.

“So yer goin’ to be a proper gentleman?”

“…Yes.” 

“Hmm.” Lute walked toward Stan. He crossed his arms. “What are yer intentions with my lil sister?”

“Uh…what?”

“What are yer intentions?” Lute repeated. 

“Do ya really need to do this?” Stan asked awkwardly. Lute’s gaze hardened.

“Yes.”

“Okay, uh, my intentions are, uh…to ask her on a date?” Lute nodded.

“Reasonable. Now, what’s yer stance on kids?”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s a bit overboard, McGucket,” Stan said quickly. “Seriously, what the fuck are ya doin’?”

“I’m doin’ the traditional McGucket significant other survey.”

“Oh, boy.”

“We did this fer Violynn when she met Tim. It’s important. Scares away anyone who ain’t serious, fer one thing.”

“I wonder why,” Stan muttered.

“So, Stanley, do ya want to have kids?” Lute reiterated. “Angie wants one or two.”

“Uh, sure, maybe? I mean, I’d like to, but knowing me, I’d prob’ly fuck ‘em up or somethin’.” Lute sighed. The anger that had filled his short frame dissipated. He shook his head.

“I can’t do this. Not when ya say things like that.”

“…Sorry?” Lute cracked a half-smile.

“Don’t be. It’s fine. I know that yer goin’ to do yer best with my baby sister. I just get worried ‘bout her. She’s awful small, and don’t always know when folks take advantage of her.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know. Yer a good man, no matter how hard ya try to hide it.” Lute grinned at him. “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll legally become my brother.” Stan laughed.

“I think I’m goin’ to ask her to dinner a few times before droppin’ to one knee.”

 

**January 6, 1974**

Stan was still nervous, and so, clearly, was Angie. She rubbed her arms, looking around what passed for a nice restaurant in Gumption. 

_Okay, Stanley. It doesn’t need to be this awkward. You know her, and you know how to talk to her. Just ‘cause it’s a date doesn’t mean you should turn into a nervous mess like Fidds or Ford._

“So, uh,” he stammered. Angie raised an eyebrow at him. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

_Shit. I always mess up on dates! I shoulda known better! The Stan Pines Dating Technique is a buncha shit. I never learn._ He could feel a blush beginning to creep across his features. Angie cracked a small smile. She leaned forward and looked deep into his eyes.

“Tell me about yourself, Stanley,” she said in a husky voice. She cocked her head. “Have ya always been so devilishly handsome?” Stan blinked, taken aback.

“Uh, what?” Angie smiled broadly.

“Or maybe devilish ain’t the right word. Such good looks _must_ be heaven-sent.” 

_Is she serious?_ Stan looked at her more closely. Humor danced in her eyes. _Oh, thank god. She’s not._

“When did you become such a flirt?” he asked, simultaneously impressed and confused. Angie rolled her eyes.

“Please, Stan. I have five older siblings. I’ve watched _all_ of ‘em on dates. Well, except for Harper.” She grinned. “Ya pick things up after a while. The effective ones and the…not-so-effective ones.” Angie widened her eyes dramatically. “Did ya know that subatomic particles do a thing and that’s why yer eyes are such a pretty root beer brown? Why, _I could drink ya in_ ,” she said in a mocking tone.

“Were ya mimicking Fidds?”

“Yep.”

“There’s no way Fiddleford ever said that.” Angie shook her head, smiling.

“Well, I _was_ summarizin’, but nope, he actually said that. If ya think he wouldn’t, then ya don’t know Fidds that well. ‘Cause he said that to yer own dang twin.”

“Damn. I can’t imagine Fiddleford bein’ anything but awkward.” Angie laughed.

“He’s the worst one of us! Fidds is a _huge_ flirt. An’ really good at it, too.” 

“I thought ya said he was the worst.” Angie laughed again.

“You know what I mean.” 

_A year ago, Angie would’ve abandoned this date ‘cause she thought she heard a frog, or worked herself into a mess, trying to make everything go perfectly. Hell, she probably woulda tried to mimic her older siblings’ flirting methods exactly, rather than use it as a joke._ Something clicked in his mind.

“I’m ready to answer your question,” Stan said abruptly. Angie blinked.

“What question?”

“‘Why now?’” 

“Oh. Right. That.”

“Back when ya told me ya had a crush on me, you were 16. I was 18. Neither of us were ready for _any_ sort of relationship, ‘specially not one with someone we lived with.”

“…Fair enough.”

“We had to grow up. Change.” Angie stared at him with a broken expression.

“Ya couldn’t love me back until I changed who I was?” she whispered.

“Shit. Angie, I didn’t mean it that way!”

“Then what way did ya mean it?”

“We were lost, both of us. Confused ‘bout who we were. We needed to figure that out. Any relationship when we were both of us searchin’ for ourselves woulda been based on that. It woulda been co-dependent. I’ve seen it before. My folks ain’t as well-balanced as yours. 

“But now we’re people, separate from our fam’ly. We figured out who we were. Both of us. I’m ready to try to start somethin’ with someone special. And I think yer ready, too.”

“Geez, Stan, if ya keep sayin’ wisdom like that, folks’ll think yer a genius or somethin’.” Angie blinked rapidly. When that failed to hold back her tears, she daintily covered her eyes to wipe them away. 

“Whoa, hey, what’s with the cryin’?”

“I like ya, Stan. I really do. But this date didn’t work,” she said in a tear-choked voice. “I didn’t feel it. The thing that drives folks to pursue one another. I- I love ya, in a romantic way, but I don’t feel that thing. I’m broken. And that’s- that’s the real reason Hannah and I didn’t work out.”

“No. Yer not broken.” Stan scooched his chair until it was next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tightly. “Are ya talkin’ ‘bout, I dunno what the ‘southern’ word fer it is, um, ‘desire’?”

“What?” Stan paused to think.

_Do I really need to censor myself? Angie’s an adult._

“Ya see someone and wanna jump their bones.” Angie gaped at him. “That’s the thing, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“So? It don’t matter. Ya said ya loved me. That’s a pretty ballsy thing to do on the first date.” Angie chuckled despite her tears. “Does it matter if ya don’t feel ‘the thing’? Ya want to date me. That’s what’s important. And anyways, wantin’ to jump folks’ bones just makes things more inconvenient. Believe me.” Angie chuckled again. “So?”

“So what?”

“That’s my point.” Angie laughed, but this time, the sound had no sadness in it. “Seriously though. So, was this a good date?” Angie smiled at him. She stroked his face.

“Yes.” She gave him a gentle, chaste kiss on his cheek. “Ya want to get any further than that kiss, ya need to take me on another one, though.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy anniversary of the Gravity Falls series finale! I was hoping to post something for one of my multichaps, and my muse decided to oblige.   
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	10. Welcome to Gravity Falls

**May 22, 1976 – Gumption**

“Oof! Angie, did ya have to jump on my back like that?” Stan asked. 

“Yeah,” Angie replied. “Otherwise, I couldn’t do this.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. Stan grinned.

“Ya make a good point.” 

“Gross,” Lute muttered.

“No one asked for yer opinion, McGucket,” Stan said. 

“Stan, Angie, could ya tone down the affection?” Ma McGucket asked. “Yer relatives didn’t come all this way to watch ya bein’ all over each other.” Angie reluctantly slid off Stan’s back. 

“They’re not _my_ relatives,” Stan said, putting an arm around Angie’s shoulders. Ma McGucket shook her head at him.

“Stanley, don’t start,” she said in a warning tone.

“Okay, Sally. I’ll play nice.” Ma McGucket reached out and pinched his cheek.

“Thank ya, son.”

“…Yeah,” Stan mumbled, rubbing his cheek. Ma McGucket walked away. Stan looked over at Angie. “The house isn’t as crowded as I thought it would be.”

“That’s ‘cause my relatives are comin’ in spurts,” Angie explained. She took a seat on the couch and fanned the skirts of her new dress around her. “If’n they came all at once, this place’d be fit to explode.”

“They were really careful ‘bout it this time,” Lute agreed, sitting next to his little sister. “After what happened before. Remember? Durin’ my graduation party, they told everyone to bring an instrument, so that we could have live entertainment.”

“I remember,” Stan said. He joined the youngest two McGuckets on the couch. “That was a disaster.”

“Only if ya have ears that are sensitive to cacophonies,” Lute said idly. Stan snorted. “Havin’ the radio in the kitchen playin’ is a better idea.” He looked at Angie. “I’m still surprised ya ain’t upset that ya have to share the party with Fidds an’ his new master’s degree.” Angie shrugged.

“It means folks don’t focus on me as much, which I ‘ppreciate.” She sighed. “But I can’t avoid _all_ the attention. Uncle Bassett keeps askin’ me when I’m goin’ to get married.” She looked at Stan, whose eyes were now the size of saucers. “Relax, Stan. There ain’t any pressure on the either of us. My fam’ly asks that sort of question all the time, and it means nothin’.” 

“Don’t believe her,” Lute told Stan.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” Stan said. Angie rolled her eyes. Lute looked at Stan carefully.

“All jokin’ aside,” he began. 

“That’s never a good thing to hear,” Stan said.

“Lute…” Angie warned. 

“Banjolina, get yourself over here and hug yer grannie!” someone called. 

“Comin’!” Angie cast Stan an apologetic look before leaving.

“When are ya goin’ to pop the question?” Lute asked Stan. Stan groaned.

“Lute. C’mon, man.”

“Hey, I need to know,” Lute said defensively.

“No, ya don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Ya promised to do the right thing with my baby sister.”

“Look, we’ve only been datin’ for-”

“Two years,” Lute interrupted. Stan blinked.

“Holy shit, that long? No wonder people are askin’.” Stan rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “But most of it’s been long-distance. We ain’t at that marriage place yet.” Lute nodded.

“Sounds reasonable. See, was that so difficult?” 

“…Yes,” Stan said stubbornly. Lute punched him on the arm.

“Ya goon.” A strange look crossed his face. “Will ya ever get there if ya keep stayin’ long-distance?”

“I didn’t think about that,” Stan said slowly. “Huh. I’ve been meanin’ to leave Gumption, anyways.”

“Uh, what?”

“Just thinkin’ out loud.”

“Ya want to leave Gumption?”

“Well, I might like bein’ a farmhand, but I’m a city boy at heart. And Angie lives in a decently sized city.” He looked at Lute. “An’ you’re here all the time, so you can do the farm work.” Lute looked back at Stan with a cautious expression.

“Where are ya goin’ with this, Stanley?” 

“You’ll see.” Stan stood up and made his way through the crowd of cheerful McGuckets. “Hey, Angie!” he called. 

“Yeah?” a voice responded from the kitchen. Stan poked his head in. Angie was sitting at the table, deep in conversation with her grandparents. He walked over to her. She looked up at him. “Whattaya need, Stan?”

“Do ya wanna move in together?” he asked bluntly. The amicable chatter filling the kitchen stopped suddenly; the only sound was the tinny music from the beat-up radio on the counter. Stan ignored the looks he was getting from the McGucket extended family. Angie blinked.

“What brought this on?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really…”

“So, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Angie said quickly. Stan grinned. 

“Sweet.” He kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the kitchen. Fiddleford had taken his spot on the couch, but there was still room for him. He sat down.

“What was that ‘bout?” Lute asked Stan. 

“I just asked Angie to move in with me.”

“What?!” Fiddleford and Lute said together, staring at him. Stan shrugged.

“I’ve been meanin’ to talk to her, I just couldn’t find the right moment.”

“An’ a graduation party is the right moment?” Fiddleford asked, aghast. 

“I mean, it worked out pretty well,” Stan said. Fiddleford groaned. 

“Ya don’t have a romantic bone in yer body, Stanley Pines.”

 

**August 10, 1976 – Gravity Falls**

“All right, we lasted three months livin’ together. Cough it up,” Angie said briskly, holding out a hand. Grumbling, Lute and Harper rummaged in their pockets for money.

“How much do we owe ya?” Harper asked.

“Twenty bucks each.”

“Ugh, remind me to never make a bet with you again,” Lute muttered, slapping a twenty-dollar bill in Angie’s outstretched hand. After the brothers had left, Stan approached Angie.

“Did ya place bets with yer brothers on how long we’d last livin’ together?” he asked. Angie nodded. “I love ya,” Stan enthused, lifting her in an intense embrace. 

“Stanley, if yer goin’ to lift somethin’, could it at least be furniture or equipment? Not my lil sister?” Fiddleford asked. Stan set Angie down again. 

“Fine,” he said, walking over to the pickup truck. He took a large box out of the bed of the truck. “Geez, what’s in this? Rocks?”

“No, spare parts,” Fiddleford supplied. “But they _are_ made of osmium alloy.” Stan grunted and set the box down on the ground.

“Okay?”

“Osmium is the heaviest metal,” Angie supplied, sitting on another box and swinging her legs idly. 

“Thanks.”

“Yup. Got to use my chemistry minor fer _somethin’_.” She winked at Stan. “Even if it’s just to explain the periodic table.” Stan grinned back.

“Hey, works for me.”

“Angie, get off yer butt and help out!” Lute shouted, only the top of his head visible behind the box he was carrying. 

“I don’t know. Seems like you fellers got it handled,” Angie said, examining her fingernails with a vested interest. 

“If yer not goin’ to help, why’d ya come along?” Harper asked.

“‘Cause Stan was comin’. And all my older siblings, too. At least, they’re all _supposed_ to be here. Where’s Violynn?”

“She had to take Mason to the doctor,” Basstian supplied, joining the others outside. 

“Oh, no, is he all right?” Angie asked.

“He’ll be fine. Just ate somethin’ he shouldn’t have.”

“That boy’s definitely a McGucket,” Lute said appreciatively. “Hey, Stanford, where do ya want this box? Inside or outside?” he shouted.

“Inside, please!” Ford shouted back, from inside the house.

“Where inside?”

“The second floor.” Lute groaned. Angie laughed.

“That’s what ya get fer agreein’ to help move Ford and Fidds,” she said snidely. Lute glared at her and walked inside.

“What is all this, anyways?” Harper asked Fiddleford.

“Equipment fer research, mostly,” Fiddleford replied. He nodded at the box Harper was holding. “That’s got pots ‘n pans, though.”

“Why it so heavy, then?”

“Cast-iron.”

“That explains it.” Harper walked inside. Basstian took another box from the truck, this one labeled “Sparkplugs”.

“Fiddleford, why do ya have a box that’s just of sparkplugs?” Basstian asked. 

“I need them.”

“Fer whatever research yer goin’ to be doin’ with Stanford?”

“Yes,” Fiddleford said. He turned to Angie. “Angie, get off that box so’s someone else can take it in, if all yer goin’ to do is sit ‘round and look pretty.” Angie hopped off of the box so that Fiddleford could pick it up. 

“What sort of research are ya plannin’ on doin’?” she asked her older brother. 

“Studyin’ the paranormal. There’s a lot of weird stuff here in Gravity Falls, and Stanford’s pretty interested in all of it.”

“But you aren’t,” Stan said slowly. Fiddleford shrugged.

“It’s interestin’ enough. An’ Ford got a research grant fer it. It’ll fund his weird research and my robotics work, too.” He pursed his lips. “My only concern is that some of it seems a bit dangerous.”

“Please, it’s just nature,” Angie said.

“Ya almost got bit by rattlers ten times growin’ up,” Basstian said. 

“An’ I’m still ‘round.” Angie turned back to Fiddleford. “What sort of weird things are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Don’t tell me you’re goin’ to want to do research here, too,” Fiddleford said. 

“It depends on what the weird stuff here is.” Fiddleford sighed.

“Ya can ask Ford all ‘bout it.”

“Will do!” Angie bounded up the stairs and inside. 

“Ya might end up followin’ Stanford and Fiddleford to Gravity Falls, Stan,” Basstian said with a chuckle. Stan shrugged.

“Seems like a decent place.”

 

**March, 1977 – Gravity Falls**

The phone picked up on the second ring.

“Pines-McGucket residence, Stan speakin’.”

“Gimme that!” Fiddleford waited patiently as his younger sister and Stan apparently had a mock fight over the phone. There was a rustle. “Sorry, he misspoke. It’s the McGucket-Pines residence, ‘cause _I lived here first_ , ya goober!” Angie shouted playfully, thankfully not into the receiver.

“Angie, it don’t matter,” Fiddleford said briskly.

“Oh! Fidds!” 

“Who is it?” Stan asked, his voice muffled. 

“I just said his name.”

“Tell Fidds I say hi.”

“Stan says hi,” Angie dutifully reported.

“I say hi back.” Angie relayed Fiddleford’s message to Stan. “So, how’s livin’ together?” Fiddleford asked.

“Goin’ pretty well. It ain’t as crowded as it was before. A few months ago, my roommate went back to Palo Alto. Last I heard, Marley’s got two boyfriends.”

“That’s…interestin’.”

“I’m lookin’ forward to the Christmas cards. Whatchya callin’ fer?”

“Just checkin’ on my baby sister and my future brother-in-law.”

“Fidds, we ain’t engaged.”

“Did I say ya were engaged right now?” Angie sighed.

“What’s the real reason yer callin’?”

“I was wonderin’ if’n you and Stan might want to visit Ford and me.” Fiddleford felt another bout of nausea and frantically forced it down. “Y’know, in Gravity Falls? See the house, the wildlife, the two of us?”

“I don’t know, Fidds, it’s an awful long drive.”

“I miss y’all,” Fiddleford said, playing the pity card.

“I miss ya, too.” Angie paused. “But I still ain’t sure…”

“You’ll love it here, we’ve got all sortsa weird stuff in the woods.” 

“Weird stuff? Well, why didn’t ya say so earlier? We’ll be there tomorrow. What’s the address, again? I forgot to write it down when we helped ya move in.”

“618 Gopher Road.”

“Got it.”

“See ya soon, lil sis.”

“See ya soon!” Angie chirped. Fiddleford hung up the phone.

“Well?” Ford asked. Fiddleford nodded. 

“They’re comin’.” He looked at his boyfriend. “An’ not a moment too soon.”

 

“Okay, but seriously,” Stan said, getting out of the Stanleymobile, “what happened?” They had just pulled up to the house at the address 618 Gopher Road, Gravity Falls, Oregon. They were having markedly different reactions to the trip: while Angie had been enamored by the lush forests immediately, Stan found himself getting gradually more and more agitated. 

“I don’t know, Stan,” Angie said. She opened the trunk and tossed Stan his bag. “Maybe ya can stop by a mechanic, see what happened with the brakes.”

“We stopped at a gas station for five minutes, ran inside to get some chips and a pack of smokes-”

“ _You_ ran inside fer cigarettes,” Angie said under her breath.

“-and when we got back, the brakes were basic’ly shot! What the hell happened?” Angie took her bag out of the trunk.

“Stanley, relax. We’ll get it checked, _after_ we say hello. I just want to make sure Fidds and Ford know we’re here.” She walked over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Stan grinned at her. 

“…Okay.” Angie grinned back.

“I’ve got ya wrapped ‘round my finger, don’t I?”

“Maybe.” They walked up to the front door. Stan knocked. 

“I’ll get it!” a voice said. Angie looked at Stan.

“Who was that?” she asked. Stan frowned.

“It sounded familiar,” he said slowly. The door opened. Stan and Angie looked in front of them, then down. 

“I thought that was a child’s voice,” Angie said, bemused. The child, roughly six years old, looked away nervously. Angie crouched down and smiled at him. “Howdy there, lil feller. Does a Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket live here?” The child frowned at her, clearly upset. 

“Holy shit,” Stan said suddenly. Angie gave Stan a look. 

“Don’t swear in front of lil ones!” she hissed.

“He ain’t lil,” Stan said. 

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“That’s Ford.” Angie looked back at the child, focusing on his hands. He had twelve fingers. Her eyes widened.

“Cheese and crackers,” she said softly. “Stanford?”

“Y-yes,” Ford mumbled, looking down at his feet. Stan began to laugh. 

“This is the best thing I’ve seen in days!” he cackled. Angie continued to look Ford over with a concerned expression.

“Stanford, how- what-” She stopped herself. “First off. Where’s Fidds?”

“Right here,” Fiddleford said, appearing in the doorway. 

“Hey, Fidds,” Stan said, breaking off his laughter.

“Howdy, Stan,” Fiddleford said. Angie stood and embraced her big brother.

“Howdy, Fidds!”

“Hey there, Angie. Could ya maybe not squeeze me so tight?” Fiddleford said, gently removing her. “I ain’t been feelin’ too good in the tum region lately.”

“Oh, no!” Angie said. She clucked her tongue. “Ya _do_ look awful pale. Do ya want me to make ya some tea or somethin’?”

“N-no. I’m fine, thank ya. But, uh, please, come in! We’ll explain what happened.” Angie and Stan followed Fiddleford into the house. Stan ruffled Ford’s hair as he passed. Ford pouted at him, making Stan laugh again. In the living room, Fiddleford took the only chair, a comfy if slightly worn armchair. Angie balanced herself on a dinosaur skull that was serving as an end table, Stan stood next to her, and Ford took a prompt seat on the ground.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I’m approximately six years old,” Ford said, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt nervously.

“Yeah,” Angie and Stan said together. 

“It was a lab accident.” Angie quirked an eyebrow.

“Dang, must’ve been some lab accident,” she said idly. Ford waved a diminutive hand.

“Not really. I’ve had much worse, and suffered much more serious side effects,” he said matter-of-factly. Stan grinned.

“You’ve had worse than gettin’ turned into a kid? Now that, I’ve gotta hear.”

“Ford can tell ya those stories while ya help watch him,” Fiddleford said. 

“Whoa, whoa, I did _not_ agree to be a babysitter!” Stan said immediately. Ford pouted.

“I don’t need a babysitter!” He sighed. “I _do_ need some form of supervision, however, just to assist me with accessing things.”

“…Ya need someone to get things from tall places,” Stan translated. Ford sighed.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“We were callin’ y’all fer assistance,” Fiddleford began to explain. “We need to re-age Ford, but neither of us can spend any time in the lab right now. Angie, I was wonderin’ if you could help us out.” Angie blinked.

“Me? I mean, I can try. I don’t have any clue what sort of nonsense yer gettin’ up to here, though.” She tapped her chin with a thoughtful air. “Actually, never mind. It’s pretty obvious yer messin’ with witchcraft or demons or somethin’.”

“Witchcraft, yes. Demons, no,” Ford said shortly. “I may sometimes make foolhardy decisions, but I know better than to seek out explicitly dark forces.”

“Fidds won’t let ya?” Stan asked. 

“No, he won’t,” Ford confirmed. Angie frowned as a thought occurred to her. 

“Wait. I understand why Ford shouldn’t be doin’ lab work, but Fidds, why can’t you?” Fiddleford rubbed his neck nervously.

“It ain’t quite safe.”

“Why?”

“I’m expectin’.”

“Expectin’ what?” Stan asked. Angie gasped.

“Really? How far along are ya?” she asked eagerly. Stan looked back and forth between Angie and Fiddleford. 

“Wait. Fidds, did my twin knock ya up?” Fiddleford sighed.

“I wish ya wouldn’t say it so crass, but yes.”

“Oh, wow. Congrats, man,” Stan said. 

“Thanks. And to answer yer question, Angie, I’m only a coupla months along.” Angie nodded.

“So ya _really_ shouldn’t be in the lab.”

“Yessir.”

“I’ll help ya out. I’d be glad to,” she gushed. She stifled a squeal. “I’m goin’ to have a new lil niece or nephew! An’ there’s a fifty percent chance the lil baby’ll be a polydactyl!” Ford immediately developed an anxious expression.

“I- I’d hate to pass on my deformity to my child,” he said slowly. Fiddleford shook his head.

“Ford, ya know my fam’ly. If this young’un is a polydactyl, he or she won’t ever feel like it’s a bad thing. We won’t let that happen.” Ford nodded, assuaged. 

“Not gonna lie, hearing a kid say ‘my child’ is really weird,” Stan said. Angie hopped off of her seat and walked over to Ford, grabbing one of his small hands and pulling him up.

“Wha- hey!” Ford protested.

“Show me the lab,” Angie said. She grinned at him. “Ya lil cutie-pie.” Grumbling, Ford led her away. Fiddleford looked at Stan.

“Y’know, helpin’ to watch Ford, and later yer lil niece or nephew, why, that’ll be some good practice fer bein’ a parent.” Stan squinted at him.

“Uh, what?”

“When ya have kids of yer own, it’ll be nice to have the experience under yer belt. That’s all I’m sayin’,” Fiddleford said. Stan shook his head.

“No, man, Angie told me what ya said about ‘future brother-in-law’ yesterday. We’re takin’ this step by step. No talkin’ ‘bout kids or marriage. Not yet.” Fiddleford raised an eyebrow.

“‘Not yet’?” he inquired. Stan shrugged.

“I mean, who can tell what’ll happen in the future? All I know right now is that, I dunno, I’m not _against_ those things,” Stan said. Fiddleford nodded.

“You’ll get there. Yer meant to be a McGucket. I can tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write! It ended up being a _lot_ longer than I planned, though. That's actually going to be a bit of a pattern with these later chapters; there's some long ones coming up (especially Chapter 13).  
>  As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	11. Best Laid Plans

**April 1, 1977 – Gravity Falls**

Stan followed his girlfriend and his twin brother deeper into the abandoned mines. 

“Ya really wanna spend yer birthday chasin’ down dinosaurs?” he asked, his voice echoing. “Ya wouldn’t prefer to go to that restaurant with the ocean view?” Angie shook her head.

“That place is expensive. Trackin’ dinosaurs is free.” She looked back at him. “Ya didn’t have to come with.”

“You’re my girlfriend. It’s your birthday. If I abandoned ya, Lute’d have my head.”

“I know ya didn’t really like Gravity Falls the last time we visited.”

“Gnomes chewed through the brake wires of the car I’ve had since I was sixteen,” Stan said flatly. 

“Yeah.” Angie fell back a few steps. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank ya fer workin’ past yer hatred fer this town to spend time with me.”

“Heh. It ain’t a big deal. Especially since this is way better than hearin’ Lute rant about how ‘that ain’t what southern men do’. Your brother’s got some interesting thoughts ‘bout what bein’ a southern gentleman means. And for some reason, he seems to be under the impression that I’m one.” Angie chuckled. She froze. 

“Did ya hear that?”

“Hear what?” A roar echoed. 

“That.” 

“Yep. Definitely heard that.”

“I’ve found the nest!” Ford called. He ran back to them. “But there’s a slight problem. I disturbed the mother.”

“That’s more than a _slight_ problem, Sixer,” Stan said. “I think it’s time to go.”

“What? But we didn’t get any pictures!” Angie protested. Stan grabbed her hand.

“If ya get killed on my watch, yer folks’ll kill _me_. C’mon.” She pulled her hand out of his grip.

“No, I need at least one picture.” Angie strode away determinedly. “If’n yer so concerned ‘bout my safety, ya can follow me.” A shadow fell over her.

“Angie!” Stan tackled her to the ground, narrowly avoiding the dinosaur’s claws. They tumbled down a nearby slope, coming to a stop at its base. He looked at Angie, whom he was effectively pinning to the ground. She was so close that he could count every freckle on her face and see a thin silver ring around her pupils, contrasting the bright blue of the rest of her iris. It reminded him of something. He thought back to the small box he had left back with Fiddleford, at Ford’s house. 

_Now’s as good a time as any._ She stared at him, a pink flush beginning to spread across her cheeks.

“Will ya marry me?” he blurted out. Angie’s eyes widened. 

“What?”

“Banjolina Quinn McGucket, will ya marry me?” he said, more firmly this time. “I know I’m not on one knee, and the ring’s back at Ford’s house, but-”

“Yes,” she interrupted. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really,” she said. “Ya goober.” Stan grinned at her.

“I’m yer goober, now,” Stan said. Angie smiled.

“Ya most definitely are.”

 

**May 1978 – Gumption**

“So, the wedding’s in a month, right?” Lute asked Angie. Angie rolled her eyes. 

“Ya got the invitation ages ago! An’ all the information is in that there binder in front of ya.”

“Oh.” Lute opened the binder. “Yep. June 18. Good choice. I’ve heard good things about June weddings.” After her graduation with her master’s degree, Angie had come back to Gumption with Stan, and they were currently finishing up the wedding plans. 

“An’ it’s here in Gumption,” Angie continued. “In the barn. So we’ll have to clean it up a bit.”

“Why not the church?” Fiddleford asked. He and Ford were taking a break from their research in Gravity Falls to visit Gumption quickly before the wedding. 

“Stan’s Jewish,” Angie said shortly.

“Right.”

“Angie, does this mean ya get to do the thing where ya step on the glass an’ break it?” Lute asked eagerly. Angie looked at Stan. Stan nodded. “Dang. That’s excitin’.”

“Y’all are weird,” Stan said, shaking his head. Angie kissed him on the cheek.

“Yer marryin’ into my weird fam’ly, though.” 

“Fiddleford, Tate’s up,” Ford said, walking into the living room, holding his son. 

“Did ya change him?” Fiddleford asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll hold him, then. He likes gettin’ attention.”

“No, I’ll hold him!” Angie said immediately. 

“Are you sure?” Ford asked. Angie nodded.

“I don’t get to spend enough time with the lil polydactyl.” Ford handed Tate to her. “My lord, Tate, yer gettin’ so big already!” Angie cooed at her nephew. She looked at Fiddleford. “How old is he, again?”

“He was born November 17, so almost exactly six months,” Fiddleford replied. Angie looked back at Tate.

“Yer already halfway to bein’ a year old, Tater Tot! Such a big boy!” She blew a raspberry on Tate’s stomach. He giggled. “Such a happy boy, too! What an absolute cutie-pie.”

“Since he started sleeping through the night, he’s definitely started to seem cuter,” Ford said. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been on Mom to take care of two infants at the same time.”

“It’s a good thing twins don’t run in the McGucket fam’ly, then,” Lute said, turning another page in the wedding plan binder. “Otherwise ya might have had to deal with that.” 

“Are ya goin’ to have more kidlets?” Angie asked her older brother. Fiddleford shook his head.

“I think just the one child is enough,” Fiddleford said, taking his son from Angie. “I don’t plan on goin’ through that whole experience again. It weren’t pleasant.”

“Adoption is-”

“Just the one munchkin is enough fer us,” Fiddleford said firmly. “Raisin’ kids is hard work, an’ we’re already busy, what with Tate and our research.” He smiled at Angie. “I understand where yer comin’ from. I know ya enjoy bein’ an auntie, and ya like spoilin’ yer nieces and nephews. But ya won’t be gettin’ any more from Ford and myself.” 

“Fair enough,” Angie conceded. She cocked her head. “So, ya had to give up doin’ research fer a while. How’d that go? Just so’s I know.” Stan looked up from the wedding plans he had been perusing with Lute.

“Uh, what?” Stan asked. Angie looked over at him.

“I ain’t pregnant _now_ , don’t worry.” 

“I know you’re not, but the fact that you’re askin’ before we’re even married is makin’ me a bit nervous.”

“It’s just fer future reference,” Angie said with a wave of her hand. 

“Ya might go a bit stir-crazy when it’s yer turn,” Fiddleford told her. “I stayed inside a lot an’ didn’t do much, ‘specially near the end.” Angie grimaced.

“Yeesh. But it’d be worth it. Fer one thing, Stan’s cuter than Ford. An’ I know it seems impossible, but that means a kid of ours would be even more adorable than Tate.”

“Damn straight,” Stan said, turning his attention back to the wedding plans. “And our kid would have a better name.”

“Tate is a perfectly fine name,” Ford said defensively. “Fiddleford and I agreed to forego the McGucket naming convention.”

“Ya might have mostly foregone it, but ya _did_ name him after Uncle Tate,” Lute said. 

“So?”

“Do ya know what Tate is short for?”

“It’s not short for anything.” 

“Not yer Tate. Uncle Tate.”

“Oh, um, no,” Ford confessed. Angie snickered. “What? What is it short for?”

“Isn’t he the one named after food?” Stan asked. Ford looked at Fiddleford.

“Fiddleford. What did we name our son?”

“We named him a proper name,” Fiddleford said reassuringly. “His namesake just don’t have that.”

“What’s Uncle Tate’s real name?” Ford asked. Fiddleford sighed.

“His full name is Potato.”

 

**September, 1978 – Gravity Falls**

Summer was beginning to fade, and the town of Gravity Falls was bustling with citizens making the most of the last warm days. On the drive up, Angie had been bubbling with excitement over getting permission to finish her doctorate by studying some of the amphibians in Gravity Falls. Her happiness almost masked the dread Stan was feeling. Something about the lumber town felt odd to him, like bad things would happen there. But now that he was officially moving boxes into the house they had just rented, the initial unease had gone to the back of Stan’s mind. 

“Thanks fer helpin’ us move in,” Angie said, handing a box to Lute.

“It’s no problem. I’m always ‘round to help my baby sister,” he replied. He tucked the box under one arm.

“It’s not like you have anythin’ better to do, anyways,” Stan said, taking another box out of the trailer. “What exactly do ya do, again?”

“Mostly just bother my siblin’s,” Lute replied. Angie opened the passenger door of the truck and took out the terrarium holding Tubbs. She went inside the house. Once she was gone, Lute turned to Stan. “So, when are the two of ya goin’ to pop out a kid?” 

“Lute, what the fuck.”

“Hey, it’s a perfectly valid question.”

“We’ve only been married fer three months.”

“So?”

“Isn’t that a bit fast?”

“Not fer a McGucket,” Lute said. “Ma didn’t even finish school ‘fore she had the oldest three.”

“Well, we only just moved here. Angie wouldn’t wanna stop doin’ her research just after startin’ it.” Stan rubbed his neck nervously. “An’ I’m still lookin’ for a job. ‘Arkansas farmhand’ and ‘San Diego car salesman’ don’t make the greatest resume. We haven’t even talked ‘bout kids, beyond mentionin’ that they’ll eventually happen. So, no, Lute, we’re not plannin’ on havin’ kids. Not yet.”

“What’s that thing folks say? ‘God laughs at yer plans’?” Stan eyed Lute suspiciously. 

“What are ya gettin’ at, McGucket?” he asked. Lute sighed and set down the box he was holding.

“Ma didn’t plan on havin’ the older three. It’s a well-known fact in the fam’ly that Violynn, Harper, and Basstian were all surprises.”

“I don’t think I’m likin’ what I’m hearin’.”

“Pa has seven siblin’s.”

“Damn.”

“The McGuckets are a very fertile fam’ly. An’ unless you ‘n Angie are abstainin’…” Lute eyed Stan curiously. 

“Lute. I’m not gonna talk ‘bout my sex life. Do ya really want to know if your baby sister’s had-”

“Fair enough,” Lute said quickly. He shrugged. “Just somethin’ to keep in mind. Tate weren’t planned, either.”

“Lute, don’t say things like that,” Angie said, joining them again. 

“It’s true,” Lute protested. Angie put her hands on her hips.

“It don’t matter if it’s true. It’s rude. But that reminds me.” Angie turned to Stan. “We’re babysittin’ Tate tomorrow.”

“Again?”

“His dads have research to do. I just want to help.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Stan said. “It doesn’t have anythin’ to do with how much ya like spendin’ time with babies.” Angie rolled her eyes and took the box he was holding.

“They got backed up a bit on their work after he was born,” she called as she walked back inside. “They need to catch up.” 

“If ya say so.” Stan looked at Lute. “Do ya really think that-”

“I ain’t a doctor. I can’t tell ya yer chances fer havin’ a surprise kid.”

“You literally just told me you thought that’s what’ll happen.”

“…Point taken.” Lute handed Stan another box from the trailer. “If’n it makes ya feel better, I think you’d be a good dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Lord knows the Gucklings think yer the best thing since sliced bread. Yer a natural with kids, even if ya don’t feel like ya are.”

“I’m pretty sure yer just lyin’ to me to try to get another niece or nephew,” Stan said. Lute scoffed.

“I ain’t a liar, no matter how cute I think yer kid would be.” Angie opened the front door and stuck her head out.

“Are you fellers goin’ to bring in any more boxes or keep chit-chattin’ at the truck?”

 

“Aren’t you the cutest lil feller I ever done see,” Angie cooed at Tate. She and Stan were at Ford and Fiddleford’s house, babysitting Tate. So far, he’d been remarkably well-behaved, something Stan claimed was due to his parents being nerds. Tate giggled and grabbed at Angie’s nose. She laughed. “Yup. That’s the fam’ly nose. And you’ve got it too, Tater Tot.” She sighed. 

“What is it?” Stan asked.

“I want one,” Angie said softly. She played with Tate’s hands. 

“Well, it’s not like anybody else is here,” Stan began. Angie eyed him. 

“What are ya gettin’ at?”

“If ya decide to take him, I won’t tell. Ya can head for the border with Tate and I’ll meet up with ya.”

“Mexico?”

“No. Canada.” 

“I _did_ learn French at West Coast Tech,” Angie said. Her eyes gleamed. She stood up.

“Whoa, whoa,” Stan said. “I was kidding.” 

“Oh.” Angie sat down again. “Uh, so was I.” 

“No ya weren’t!”

“Hey, you don’t know me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Stan said firmly. Angie sighed.

“Yer right.” She kissed Tate on the forehead. “This lil feller’s just so goldarn cute. It ain’t right that Ford got a baby ‘fore I did.”

“…Why?” Stan asked. Angie shrugged.

“‘Cause it’s Ford?”

“Fair enough.” Stan leaned over to look at his nephew. Tate grabbed one of Stan’s fingers and began to chew on it excitedly. Stan softened. “You want a baby, huh?”

“Yeah…” Angie said softly. 

“But ya understand now ain’t the best time fer that. We’re still settlin’ here in Gravity Falls, and ya just started your research, so we should probably wait a bit.” Angie cracked a half-smile.

“Does that mean ya want to be a dad?” 

“…Maybe.”

“Glad we’re on the same page. I want a lil one, too, but we should prob’ly hold off a bit. How long do ya want to wait?”

“How ‘bout no kids ‘til after our first anniversary? That way we can go as wild as we want next June,” Stan suggested. Angie chuckled. “Think you can wait that long?”

“Yeah.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Look at ya, bein’ responsible.”

“Well, that an’, I dunno, havin’ a kid right away doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m pretty sure it’s ruined marriages.” Angie’s eyes softened.

“Stanley, it’d take more than a baby to make me leave ya.”

“What _would_ it take?” Stan asked.

“Why do ya want to know?”

“I wanna avoid doin’ it.”

“I can’t think of anythin’,” Angie said, bouncing Tate on one of her knees. 

“…Really?”

“Darlin’, I can’t think of a single thing that would make me leave.”

“Nothin’?”

“Absolutely nothin’.”

 

**December 23, 1978 – Gumption**

Normally, at the holidays, the McGucket house was even more warm and welcoming than usual. But Stan couldn’t help the nervousness he was feeling. Sitting next to him at the dining table, Angie grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Darlin’, it’s fine,” she whispered in his ear. “You’ll make it through this.”

“Why do ya want to wait ‘til January, to tell ‘em, again?” he whispered back.

“Ya know why.”

“Are the two lovebirds whisperin’ sweet nothin’s to each other?” Lute asked teasingly. 

“What’s it to you?” Stan asked. Lute reached out to take Angie’s glass.

“Ya want some wine, lil sis?” Angie hurriedly grabbed it from him.

“No, Lute. Thanks, though.” Lute frowned at her.

“What happened to the Angie I know an’ love? It ain’t like you’ll get drunk. McGuckets got fortitude.”

“I know how our fam’ly works, ya goon,” Angie said. She shrugged. “I just ain’t in the mood fer alcohol right now.”

“Is that so?” Ma McGucket asked. There was an odd look on her face. “Is there any reason fer that?”

“N-no,” Angie stammered. She swallowed, suddenly turning a slight shade of green. She stood up abruptly. “I’ll be back in a mo’.” She rushed off.

“She’s been usin’ the facilities an awful lot,” Lute said, taking his seat on the other side of Stan. “Is she sick or somethin’?”

“No. At least, if she is, she didn’t tell me,” Stan said. He looked at Ma McGucket again. She smiled knowingly at him.

Stan turned beet red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought _this_ chapter was cheesy and fluffy, wait until the next one. Lots of good feelings and happiness in Chapter 12. But it's the calm before the storm, folks. There's trouble brewin'.  
>  If anyone was curious about the de-aging from the previous chapter, Ford gets re-aged within a couple of weeks. Angie manages to figure it out pretty quickly. And Stan teases Ford the entire time.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	12. We're Expecting a Package or Two

**October 31, 1978**

“Angie, could ya help me out? I’m havin’ some issues puttin’ on this fuckin’ pirate costume,” Stan said, walking into the bedroom he shared with Angie, one arm in his shirt and the other one out. Angie was sitting on the bed, still in the clothes she’d worn during her research hike that day. “Uh, Angie? I thought we were goin’ to that Halloween party the lumberjacks are throwin’.”

“I, uh, I ain’t in the mood,” Angie said softly. Stan struggled for a few moments before completely removing his shirt and tossing it to the side. He sat down next to her.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Y’know how we planned on not havin’ kids fer a while?” Dread began to gnaw at Stan’s stomach.

“Yes…”

“We, uh, we might to have to move up those plans a bit,” she squeaked. Stan stared at her. 

“Are- are you-” Angie buried her head in her hands.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. 

“Oh. Oh, fuck,” Stan said in an equally soft tone. “We- we ain’t prepared.” Angie shook her head.

“No. We ain’t.” She took a deep breath. “This- this’ll throw a bit of a wrench in our plans.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan said, running a hand through his hair. “First off, are ya sure you’re pregnant?”

“Well, I ain’t gone to the doctor, but given my fam’ly history, I highly doubt it’s a false positive, darlin’.”

“Yeah. The McGucket fertility. Shoulda listened to Lute when he warned me.” Angie chuckled drily. “But, uh, at least we’ve got some money saved. And I’ve got a steady job finally. Bein’ a lumberjack pays pretty well.” He looked at Angie. “An’ Ford keeps askin’ ya to help with his research; you’ve got cash from when you’ve done that, right?” She nodded. “So, the money might not be an issue.” Angie leaned against him. 

“Even if it is, my folks’ll back us up,” she said softly. “An’ they’ve still got a lot of old baby stuff from when us kids were young.” She smiled absentmindedly. “I kind of like the idea of our kid usin’ the same crib I used.” Stan felt something warm inside his chest.

“Yeah.”

“An’ it ain’t like Fidds, I don’t have to put my research on hold right away,” Angie continued. “Pregnant people can go on hikes. ‘Fore their feet swell, at least.”

“Is that a thing that happens?” Stan asked. Angie laughed.

“Maybe we should get ya a book. Or have Ma give ya a conversation ‘bout what pregnancy entails. That’d scare ya.”

“Geez.” The two of them were silent for a moment. Stan put an arm around Angie’s shoulders. 

“Are- are we goin’ to do this?” Angie said at long last. Stan nodded hesitantly.

“I think so.” He looked at her. “Angie, we’re havin’ a kid.” She beamed.

“We’re havin’ a kid!”

“We’re- we’re gonna be parents.”

“We’re goin’ to be parents!” She embraced him tightly. He hugged her in return, but let go quickly. 

“Shit, should- should I not squeeze ya or-” Angie laughed. “So I can, then.” She took one of his hands and placed it on her flat stomach. 

“Stanley, yer son or daughter’s in there. Right now. Growin’.” The warm feeling Stan had felt earlier spread from his chest to his extremities. “I think I’m goin’ to have to skip the party tonight,” Angie said. “I don’t feel much up to it, what with findin’ out I’m pregnant an’ all.”

“ _Fuck_ the party,” Stan said vehemently. He smiled at her. “We’re gonna have a baby.” 

 

**January 8, 1979**

The doorbell rang. Angie covered the receiver of the phone.

“Stan, could ya get that, please? I’m talkin’ to Ma,” she said. Stan continued to squint at the crib assembly instructions. 

“ _Still_?”

“She’s excited ‘bout her youngest havin’ a baby.”

“I guess she would be. My mom talked my ear off, too.” The doorbell rang again. “I’m comin’!” Stan stood up and walked to the front door, abandoning the half-built crib in the living room. He opened the door. “Hey, nerds.”

“Hello to you too, Stanley,” Ford said shortly. Fiddleford shifted Tate from being held in one arm to his other one.

“Angie called earlier, sayin’ y’all had somethin’ to tell us?”

“Come on in!” Angie shouted from the living room. Stan stood to the side and let Ford and Fiddleford file in past him. Ford got to the living room first.

“Wh- normally you two keep this place fairly clean,” Ford said, eyeing the crib parts scattered across the room. 

“I tried not followin’ the instructions, and then I built…I don’t even know what it was, so I had to tear it apart,” Stan explained. “I may or may not have thrown some things.”

“He did throw things,” Angie said to Ford, while she was still on the phone. “Uh-huh. Yes, Ma, I know. ‘Bout three months, I told ya already.”

“She’s talkin’ to Ma, huh?” Fiddleford asked. He set down Tate, who promptly crawled over to the building instructions and picked it up. “No, honey-bun!” Fiddleford said quickly, taking the piece of paper from him. He frowned. “Crib instructions? Why would ya be buildin’ a crib?” He looked up at Stan, his eyes wide. “Are ya-” Stan nodded.

“We’re due late June.”

“Oh!” Fiddleford embraced Stan tightly. “Congratulations, brother!” Ford gave Stan a pat on the back.

“Yes, Stan. Congratulations. Congratulations to the both of you.”

“Thanks!” Angie said cheerfully. She turned her attention back to her phone conversation. “No, Ma, I- Ma, I don’t need yer old maternity clothes. I’m gettin’ my own. ‘Cause fashions change, that’s why!”

“Yeah, thanks, we’re uh-” Stan cut off his thought. “Tate, no!” He picked his nephew up and pulled the screwdriver out of the toddler’s hand. Tate sniffled. “Don’t cry, kid,” Stan said desperately. 

“Here,” Ford said, taking Tate from Stan. Fiddleford put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the partially assembled crib.

“Why didn’t ya wait fer us to get here ‘fore ya started? I can help ya out. I am an engineer, after all.”

“No thanks. I want somethin’ for my kid to sleep in, not a killer robot,” Stan said. 

“Stan?” Angie said.

“Yeah?”

“Lute wants to talk to ya,” she said, walking over and handing him the phone. Fiddleford took the moment to hug her.

“My baby sister’s havin’ a baby!”

“Fidds, don’t squeeze so tight,” Angie squeaked. Fiddleford let her go.

“Sorry.” He looked her up and down. “Yer showin’!” Angie placed her hands on her stomach, which already had a slight bump to it.

“A bit.”

“How far along are ya?”

“A lil over three months.” 

“That’s a bit early to be showin’.”

“Yeah, it threw us fer a loop, too. I s’pose it’s ‘cause I was mostly skin ‘n bones ‘fore. It’s why we decided to tell y’all now. We were plannin’ on waitin’ a bit longer, to avoid the phone calls and questions and advice and whatnot. But Ma already basically figured it out at Christmas, an’ then I started puttin’ on some weight up front, so we had to move up our schedule a bit.” She grinned crookedly. “This kid’s already causin’ us trouble.” Fiddleford smiled at her.

“Goldarn, with you and Stan as its parents, why, that kid’ll be a handful.”

“We can’t all have quiet, well-behaved children,” Angie replied. Fiddleford chuckled and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one of her ears.

“You would know, bein’ that you were one of ‘em what weren’t.”

“So, Stan, you ‘n my baby sister are havin’ a kid, huh?” Lute said, drawing Stan’s attention to the phone call.

“Yeah.”

“Due date’s when?”

“June 20.”

“Wow, that’s so soon!” Lute said in mock surprise. Stan sighed.

“Just say it and get it over with.” Lute sniggered.

“Told ya so.” 

 

**February 19, 1979**

“Okay, give me a second to find the baby,” the ultrasound technician said, running the weird device over Angie’s slightly extended stomach. Angie watched the ultrasound with baited breath, her face pale and drawn. Stan squeezed her hand.

“How ya doin’?” he asked her. 

“What if somethin’s wrong?” she whispered. 

“It won’t be.”

“Stan, ya have _no clue_ how many things can go wrong durin’ a pregnancy,” she said snippily, her nerves getting the best of her.

“Bein’ a biologist is really comin’ back to bite ya in the ass, huh?” Stan said. Angie nodded hesitantly. 

“It’s so easy fer _one thing_ to not work right and then-”

“Do ya know what Lute keeps sayin’ to me?” Stan interrupted, stopping her stream of anxiety before she could start to panic. Angie turned her head to face him.

“No. What?”

“He keeps sayin’ that the kid’ll be a redhead.” 

“Well, it does run in my fam’ly. Auntie Banjey and Violynn have both got that pretty red hair.”

“No, not from you. From me.” Angie frowned, perplexed. “Remember when I accidentally got my hair turned red fer six months?”

“That happened years ago! Why’s he bringin’ it up?”

“Somethin’ ‘bout seein’ me as a redhead bein’ one of the best days of his life.” Stan sighed. “He’s never gonna let me live it down.”

“He wouldn’t be a proper brother if he did.”

“He’s gonna use that as a bedtime story for our kid, I just know it.” Angie chuckled, her earlier anxiety about the baby’s health forgotten.

“And…there it is,” the technician said, pointing at the screen. Angie squeezed Stan’s hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He squeezed back and leaned forward, squinting slightly at the screen.

_Maybe Angie’s right. Maybe I should get my eyes checked out again. Might need stronger lenses than what I’ve got._

“The baby is that white blob?” Angie asked.

_Oh. Maybe it’s not my glasses._

“Shaped sort of like a bean, yes. There’s its head, and its torso and- oh!” 

“What?” Angie asked worriedly. Stan squeezed her hand again.

“There’s another one!” the technician said excitedly, pointing to a similarly shaped blob on the screen.

“There’s two?” Angie asked breathlessly.

“Yep! Twins.” Stan’s heart stopped.

_I’m still not sure if I can take care of_ one _kid, let alone two._

“No one in my family has ever had twins,” Angie said. 

“Yeah, but it runs in my family,” Stan replied. Angie looked at him.

“That ain’t how it works, Stanley.” Stan grinned at her.

“I know. Ya keep tellin’ me that.” He looked back at the ultrasound. As he stared at the picture, maybe he was imagining it, but it seemed to come into focus more. He could see what the technician had pointed out: the head, the torso, the second fetus. His heart started racing.

_Those are my kids._ He felt a surge of protectiveness, of connection to these white blobs on a computer screen. _My kids._

“You all right, Stan?” Angie asked, breaking him from his reverie. He looked down at her.

“Just- just thinkin’ ‘bout how much I love those kids, and they aren’t even born yet,” he said weakly. “I’d- I’d do anything for ‘em.” Angie’s eyes got misty. 

“I know,” she whispered. She looked back at the ultrasound. “So would I.” 

 

**June 25, 1979**

“These damn kids are takin’ their sweet time to get out,” Angie said idly. She was sitting in Stan’s armchair, hands resting on her large baby bump. Stan looked up from his _Gold Chains for Young Men_ magazine.

“I thought ya were nappin’.”

“Woke up. Yer children kept kickin’ me.”

“Weren’t they due-”

“Five days ago,” Angie finished for him. She shifted slightly, attempting to find a more comfortable sitting position. “But technically speakin’, they should’ve been here even sooner than that. Twins ‘re usually born early.”

“Maybe it’s fer the best,” Stan suggested. Angie eyed him.

“Yer not the one whose bladder is gettin’ stomped on.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what _did_ ya mean, oh husband of mine who planted two children in me?” Angie snipped. She sighed. “Sorry, darlin’. It’s damn near impossible to get comfortable right now, an’ I’m gettin’ pretty sick of needin’ yer help to sit up in the mornin’.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m gettin’ pretty sick of bein’ tired all the time, too.”

“That’s not gonna end after the kids are fin’ly born,” Stan said. Angie groaned.

“Don’t remind me. An’ if those kids are anythin’ like either of us, they’re goin’ to be hell to raise.” She shook her head. “Never mind, we’ll get there when we get there. What did ya mean by me bein’ overdue bein’ a good thing?”

“Well, we’ve got the cribs done,” Stan began. Angie nodded. “The nursery’s completely done. Painted and set up. We’ve got enough baby clothes fer a baby army.” She cracked a half-smile. “But we don’t have any names.” Angie stared at him.

“Well, kettle my corn,” she said softly. “I completely forgot ‘bout choosin’ names!”

“An’ we’ve gotta have two of ‘em,” Stan pointed out. Angie nodded. “And three pairs, since they need to match.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Pines fam’ly tradition. Twins have matching names.”

“We ain’t pullin’ a ‘Stan and Stan’ situation, Stanley,” Angie said.

“Oh, God, no. Y’know, the reason Ford and I basically have the same name is ‘cause my folks weren’t expectin’ twins. So Pops just gave us the same name when there ended up bein’ two.” He put his magazine down. “But we know we’re havin’ twins.” Angie drummed her fingers on her stomach idly.

“If’n ya want matchin’ names, if it’s two girls, how ‘bout Viola and Virginia?” 

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“Viola isn’t a real name.”

“It is! It was Fidds’ first name! An’ Virginia is Ma’s middle name.”

“Nope. Nixing it.”

“Fine,” Angie grumbled. She cocked her head at him. “What did ya have in mind?”

“Stanjamin and Stella, for a boy and girl,” Stan said immediately. Angie’s face settled into a sour expression. “So, no, then.”

“I like Stella. But Stanjamin ain’t a name.”

“Stella and Stanley, then.”

“No. If I can’t have Viola, you can’t have Stanley.” Stan sighed.

“Fair enough,” he said. Angie closed her eyes and leaned back. She took so long to speak that Stan initially thought she had fallen asleep again.

“How ‘bout Emmett and Emory, fer two boys?”

“…I like it. It’s better than what I was thinkin’.”

“Which was?”

“Luke and Lex.” Angie chuckled. 

“Them’s nerd names, Stan.”

“Yeah. Emmett and Emory is better. An’ if it’s a boy and a girl, then Emmett and…Emily?” Angie nodded, her eyes still closed.

“I like it.”

“An’ fer two girls,” Stan started, “maybe Daisy could be one of ‘em.”

“Daisy? Like my horse?”

“Like yer favorite flower, Gucket,” Stan retorted. Angie smiled. 

“Yer such a sap,” she said quietly. She yawned. “We can figure out the other name later. I’m thinkin’ I might try to take a nap again.”

“What ‘bout last names?” Stan said. “Are we gonna give ‘em McGucket-Pines or Pines-McGucket?” Angie opened an eye to look at him. 

“We name one of ‘em McGucket and one Pines,” she said shortly.

“One McGucket-Pines and the other one Pines-McGucket?”

“No. Just McGucket and just Pines.” She closed her eyes and settled back. “It ain’t fun havin’ a super long name.”

“I dunno. It’d be weird if they were twins but didn’t have matchin’ last names,” Stan said slowly. He looked over at his wife. She was asleep again. “I guess we’ll have to figure it out later.” He walked over to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and whispering in her ear. “Stanjamin Pines. Think about it.” 

 

**July 4, 1979**

Stan stared down at the two matching hospital cribs. Each strange, box-like structure held an infant swaddled in a pink blanket. He reached down and stroked the one with hair; a few wispy caramel-colored curls. Her sister, who was completely bald, began to shift noisily. 

“Are ya ever goin’ to pick one up? Or are ya just window shoppin’?” Angie asked teasingly. Stan looked over at her. She was still slightly winded, but had rebounded from her long labor quickly. 

“Gimme a sec. I was just watchin’ ‘em sleep.” He turned back to his newborn daughters. “God, they’re gorgeous girls. Just like their mom.”

“Mm. Gorgeous like their dad.”

“Yer right. We _are_ both gorgeous. Our daughters are gonna be inhumanly beautiful.” Angie laughed.

“Ford’s rubbin’ off on ya. Yer startin’ to sound like a dork.”

“That’s slander.” Another minute passed as Stan continued to look at his children. Eventually, Angie spoke. 

“Stan, would ya mind gettin’ one of ‘em? I’d like to hold my daughter.”

“Can’t ya get her yourself?”

“I just pushed both of ‘em outta my body, Stanley. I barely got enough strength to sit up.”

“Which one do ya want?”

“Don’t care. They’re both perfect.” Stan handed the younger twin to Angie. He watched his wife hold his daughter in the correct way immediately, and gaze down with intense love in her eyes. 

_Damn, she’s got me beat at this whole parenting thing and they’re less than an hour old._

“Why don’t ya hold the other one?” Angie suggested. “She’s got yer nose, after all.” Stan cracked a half-smile.

“Prob’ly looks better on her.” 

“Come on, Stan. Bond with yer oldest child.” 

“Okay, okay. I was gonna do it, even before ya started to harass me.” He reached into the crib and picked up his other daughter. She shifted slightly in his arms.

“Look at that,” Angie said quietly. “Yer a natural.”

“Yeah?” Stan asked, torn between staring at his daughter and staring at his wife.

“Yeah.”

“God, they’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” Stan whispered.

“No swearin’ around yer daughters, please.”

“Right.” He took a seat and stared down at his oldest child. At some point, she had woken up while he held her. Her eyes, a rich dark brown like his, were wide open, and she was staring at him with unabashed curiosity. He stroked her caramel-colored curls tenderly. “How else am I gonna find good words to describe how I feel, though?” he asked quietly.

“Aw, Stan, that’s so sweet,” Angie said. She looked down at the child she was holding. “This one’s got the McGucket nose.”

“That one should be Daisy, then.”

“Why?”

“Daisy McGucket just has a nice feel to it.” His daughter shifted in his arms and made a small noise. “But this one, she’s a Pines. Danica Pines.” He looked up at Angie. 

“Yessir. Daisy Leigh McGucket and Danica Viola Pines.” She smiled at him. There was a knock on the hospital room door. “Come in.” Fiddleford entered the room, closely followed by Ford. 

“Would ya look at that lil munchkin!” Fiddleford gushed, making a beeline for Angie. 

“Do ya want to hold her?” Angie asked.

“Yes, please.” Angie handed Daisy to her older brother. Ford joined Fiddleford and stared down at his small niece. “What’s her name?”

“Daisy. Daisy Leigh.”

“A cute lil name fer a cute lil girl,” Fiddleford cooed. Daisy waved a tiny hand. Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “Angie, is she a polydactyl?”

“Yep. Eleven adorable fingers.”

“It makes sense. She’s eleven minutes younger than the other one,” Stan said. Fiddleford and Ford looked up.

“Other one?” Ford asked.

“Ya had twins?” Fiddleford asked Angie. She nodded, grinning. “Why didn’t ya tell anyone?”

“We wanted it to be a surprise.”

“And we wanted to mess with everyone,” Stan said. “Angie and I couldn’t think of a better way to bring our daughters into the world than with a long con.” Ford walked over to his twin’s side. 

“She’s a cute kid, Stan.”

“Thanks. Her name’s Danica. Danny for short.”

“You two went with the naming convention, then?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. Angie looked at Fiddleford.

“Do ya know when Ma ‘n Pa ‘ll be here?”

“I called everyone when ya told us you were in labor. But 1 am ain’t exactly the time most folks are up.”

“Yeah, I was sleepin, too,” Angie said. She shook her head. “I much prefer my alarm clock to contractions in terms of wakin’ up methods. Less painful.”

“They’re goin’ to be here as soon as they can, but they prob’ly won’t show up ‘til tomorrow,” Fiddleford said. Angie nodded, seeming disappointed. “Aw, shucks, Angie, it’ll be fine. At least two of yer lil daughters’ uncles are here.”

“Yeah…” Fiddleford put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 

“Lil sis, ya did good.” He handed Daisy back to Angie and kissed her on the forehead. “They’re beautiful, Banjey.” Angie smiled at him.

“Thanks, Fidds.” 

“Can I hold Danny?” Ford asked Stan. Stan shook his head.

“No dice, Sixer. She’s stayin’ with me.”

“I’m her uncle, though.”

“I’m her _dad_ ,” Stan said, holding Danny far away from Ford.

“Stanley, please!” Ford said, attempting to grab his niece. The McGuckets watched them tussle with identical bemused expressions. 

“Stanford, I don’t know if this is the best route to take,” Fiddleford started cautiously. Ford didn’t respond. Now being lifted high up in the air, Danny began to squirm and giggle. 

“Stan, let Ford hold Danny,” Angie said briskly. “‘Fore ya drop our newborn daughter!” With a sigh, Stan handed Danny to Ford.

“She looks like you, Stan,” Ford said. “But that might just be because of the nose.” 

“Nah, she’s too cute to look like me,” Stan said casually. “They take more after their ma in terms of looks. Hopefully, they’ll be smart like her, too.” Angie beckoned Stan over and gave him a kiss.

“It don’t matter who they take after,” she said gently. “They’ll be wonderful either way.”

 

Later, while Angie was sleeping off twelve hours of childbirth, Stan stood in front of the hospital nursery, watching his newborn daughters. He thought of another pair of twins, born more than twenty-five years ago, one a polydactyl, one not. And he looked at his reflection, a reflection of a man with the same square chin as Filbrick Pines. He placed a hand on the glass.

“I’m not gonna be like him,” Stan whispered. “I won’t. I’ll be there fer ya and protect ya. I’ll be a father, not a deadbeat dad.” He swallowed. “But if, for some reason, I don’t make it, look out fer each other. Don’t let the world rip you apart. Life is an awful lot easier when someone is by yer side. Don’t follow in yer dad’s footsteps, and I won’t follow in mine.” Daisy, who had been sleeping, opened her eyes. Stan blinked back a few tears. “Ya hear me?” he choked out. “You two better stick together. Learn from my mistakes.” He smiled weakly at his daughters. “Who am I kiddin’? Yer already better than me at my best. You’ve got this in the bag, don’t ya?” Daisy waved around tiny fists, and Danica kicked the air excitedly. Stan’s smile grew stronger. “That’s my girl. Fighters, the both of ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on updating until tomorrow, but I had a really cruddy week and needed some good fluff in my life. So here you go. Were you surprised?  
> I hope you enjoyed the fluff, because the next chapter is almost pure angst. There's some Drama coming up.  
> Also, Angie hyphenated her name when she got married (her name is now Angie McGucket-Pines), but Stan didn't change his, so that's why they had a discussion about last names.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	13. Everything's Going to Be Okay

**November 29, 1981**

Stan Pines had walked in on his fair share of things he never wanted to see. But this was probably the worst. Seeing his brother-in-law holding some sort of weird futuristic gun to his twin’s head easily topped the time his parents had decided to get it on the same night he had a bad dream. 

“Fidds, what the _hell_ are ya doin’?” Stan demanded, stepping forward and knocking the gun out of Fiddleford’s hand. Ford collapsed to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

“I- I-” Fiddleford stammered, tugging on his hair, which Stan suddenly realized had been thinning. 

“What does this thing even _do_?” Stan asked. He picked up the strange-looking gun. Fiddleford looked away, ashamed.

“It erases memories.” 

“Wait, you were erasin’ Ford’s memories?” 

_Please let me have heard wrong._

“Yes. But only one memory! He- he saw somethin’ he shouldn’t have seen.” Stan stared at Fiddleford, disgusted.

“So ya decided to make him forget?”

“…Yes.” 

“Good God, Fidds,” Stan said, flabbergasted. “Why? Why would ya even _make_ somethin’ like this?”

“I needed it. I- I couldn’t sleep at night. I was haunted by everythin’ what I’ve seen here in Gravity Falls.” 

“So you jumped right to some dystopian nightmare shit? That’s gotta be an overreaction, Fiddleford.”

“I know! I know! I shouldn’t have done it. But when I started, I couldn’t stop,” Fiddleford said, tearing up. “An’ then people saw things they shouldn’t have, so I- I made them forget, too.” Stan took a steadying breath.

“How many people?” he asked. 

“Too many,” Fiddleford whimpered. 

“Includin’ Ford?”

“Includin’ Ford.” 

“Did ya wipe my memory?”

“No!” Stan had a sudden flashback to a couple days ago. Angie’d had a mental breakdown because she couldn’t remember something, something she insisted was important. 

“Angie?” Fiddleford closed his eyes tightly and began to pull on his hair again. “Fiddleford, did you wipe your little sister’s memory?” 

“I don’t recall!”

“You’re lying!” Stan shouted. Fiddleford broke into tears. He sat down heavily. 

“Yer right! Yer right! I erased her memory. My- my baby sister.”

“Why? What did she see?”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember!” Fiddleford looked at Stan, his face red and tear-streaked. “I think I erased my memory after, so I couldn’t remember doin’ that to her.” He sobbed. “I’m s’posed to protect my fam’ly, my lil siblings. An’ I hurt her. I messed with her mind.” Stan sat down next to Fiddleford.

“Do ya ‘member how she reacted?” Fiddleford nodded, but Stan replayed the events anyways. “She almost lost her damn mind ‘cause she couldn’t remember somethin’. Angie was terrified, ‘cause mental fragility runs in you guys’ family. And Thistlebert, the same cousin what married a hog, started life normal. He only started to fall apart after his memory went.” Fiddleford sobbed again. “Angie was scared that she was startin’ to do it too. It took forever to calm her down. And she started writin’ everything down, so she wouldn’t forget. She’s obsessing over it, Fidds. Even though she hasn’t forgotten anything since, she’s still paranoid to the point that I catch her sittin’ still, frozen, if she can’t remember something right off the bat.”

“She wasn’t s’posed to react that way,” Fiddleford said weakly. “Ford never did.”

“Ford and I don’t have the same fam’ly history as you and Angie,” Stan said. He looked at the gun in his hands. “Which is why I’m takin’ this away from ya.”

“What? No! I need it!”

“No, you don’t!” Stan snapped. “All you’re doin’ with it is runnin’ away from the truth. You’re hurtin’ yourself and hurtin’ others.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Look,” he said, opening his eyes again, “I understand. I understand that ya want to forget the awful things we’ve seen. But this won’t make things better. You’re a mess, Fidds. Look at what ya did to Angie and Ford. Look at what ya did to yourself. I won’t let you take this back.” Stan swallowed, a chill suddenly running through his body. “I don’t want this thing anywhere near my kids.”

“I would never-”

“Never what? Never use it on fam’ly? Never use it on folks younger than you? Never use it on the people you love? Bullshit! You did all of those things!” Stan stood, grabbed Fiddleford more roughly than he should have, and pulled up his brother-in-law. “You’re comin’ clean, and you’re gonna stop usin’ this thing.”

“I can’t,” Fiddleford sobbed. Stan saw it then. 

_He’s a junkie._ He was still furious, but he knew that this wasn’t the way to handle things. Yelling has its limits, and Fiddleford was too fragile to respond positively to anything more than a moderately stern tone.

“Hey,” Stan said more gently. He put a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. “You can. And you will. If not for yourself, for Ford, and Angie, and me, and the girls. And your son.” Fiddleford wiped away his tears. 

“I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t matter. You will.” He pulled Fiddleford into a hug. “Everything’ll be okay. Everything’ll be fine.” 

 

**January 6, 1982**

“Angie, could I ask you something?” Angie looked over. 

“Oh, hey Ford. I was just checkin’ on the kids. Sorry they fell asleep durin’ this visit. Their nap schedule musta been messed up somehow. Thanks again fer pullin’ out the air mattresses.” 

“It’s no problem.” Angie closed the door to the room the children were napping in. 

“So what’s goin’ on?”

“I need your opinion on something.” Ford handed her the stack of papers he had just printed off. “These are the preliminary results for the project Fiddleford and I have been working on.”

“Stanford, I ain’t a physicist,” Angie said, skimming the papers. “I’m a biologist.”

“I know, but I still wanted your thoughts,” Ford said. Angie pursed her lips.

“I’m inclined to think that ya should not turn on that there machine of yours,” she said after a few moments. 

“What makes you say that?” Ford asked. He wanted to yell at her, asking what she would know about all this. 

_But she already admitted this isn’t her area of expertise._

“I may not be good with technology, but I know how numbers work. And these numbers ain’t good.” She pointed at one of the pieces of paper, which had a large graph on it. “An’ I’m pretty sure that line should go _up_ , not down.”

“…You are correct,” Ford conceded. Angie flipped through the papers one more time, before sighing. 

“Look, I _do_ think ya need more than just the opinion of yer boyfriend and a biologist. I have a coupla friends from West Coast Tech who were in the physics department. I can ask ‘em what they think, if ya want. I’ll give ‘em minimal data, so they can’t steal any of it.”

“Would you really be willing to do that?” Ford asked. Angie nodded.

“‘Course! Now, while I contact ‘em, ya should hold off turnin’ it on, okay?” Angie handed the papers back to him and turned around. “That’s basic science, but it don’t hurt to remind people every now and-” Before she could finish her sentence, Ford blacked out.

 

In the living room, Stan was having a hushed conversation with Fiddleford.

“I agree, Fidds. Ford hasn’t really been actin’ like himself that much,” Stan said quietly. Fiddleford’s knee bounced nervously.

“It’s makin’ me worried. What if he’s usin’ drugs?”

“I can snoop around, see if I can find-” Stan was cut off by a series of _thuds_ , like something had fallen down a flight of stairs. “What was that?”

“Angie!” Fiddleford and Stan both jumped to their feet at Ford’s shout. Stan beat Fiddleford to the stairs by a few seconds. He dropped to his knees next to Angie. She was laying on the floor, spread-eagled. Her left arm was in an unnatural position and he could see crimson liquid pooling behind her head. 

“Oh, no,” he whispered. Ford thundered down the stairs to join Fiddleford and Stan. Fiddleford was already taking her pulse.

“It’s faint,” Fiddleford said, “but it’s there. She’s alive.” Stan picked up Angie and stood. 

_She feels smaller than usual._

“Ford, what happened?” 

“I- I don’t know. I turned around for a second, and then she was suddenly falling down the stairs.” Fiddleford stood as well and tucked a strand of hair behind one of Angie’s ears. 

“Ford, watch over the kids while Stan and I take her to the ER.” Ford nodded. Stan may have been imagining it, but something about Ford’s eyes seemed…off. 

_He’s probably just freaked out. I definitely have the crazy eyes, too._

 

**January 11, 1982**

Stan stood at his front door, getting ready to head out. He began to search for his shoes, mentally laying out what he was going to yell at his twin.

 _God, Ford is gonna get it. I have no clue what the fuck he said to make Fidds leave like that. I can’t think of_ anything _that would piss off Fidds enough to disappear and abandon his son. Dammit, Ford, I shouldn’t have had to have Tate stay overnight. But you were a hell of a hot mess. Sixer, ya better have a good reason for all of this._

“Uncle Stan? Where are you goin’?” At the sound of an inquisitive voice, Stan turned. Tate was standing in front of him, twisting his hands nervously. 

“I’m gonna go talk to your dad, and look for yer pa,” Stan replied, zipping up his coat. Tate blinked.

“But there’s no one else here.”

“I know. Can ya watch your cousins for a lil bit?” Stan asked. Tate looked over at the girls. Danny was sleeping on the couch, while Daisy climbed all over it. Daisy fell off with a small squeak. The resulting _thump_ woke up her sister, who started to cry. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tate said quietly. Stan swallowed. He put his car keys back on the hook. 

“Yer right,” he replied, patting his nephew on the shoulder. He walked over to Danny and picked her up, making shushing noises in an attempt to calm her down. “It’s okay, everything’s fine,” he said softly. Danny sniffled. “It was just Daisy fallin’ off the couch, she does that all the time.”

“I- I miss Ma,” Danny said piteously as she clung to his shirt. Stan tried to not let his heartbreak be visible.

“Me too, sweetheart. But it’ll be okay. She’ll wake up soon.” 

_I hope._

“Uncle Stan, when can I go home?” Tate asked, tugging at his shirt. “Pa wanted to go fishin’ today.” 

“Tate, I-”

“I’m hungry,” Daisy whined. She had resumed climbing on the couch.

_She looks like she could fall off again. God, if she hurts herself…_

“Get down, junebug.”

“No. I want foods.”

“Okay, I’ll make somethin’. Whattaya want?” Stan asked desperately. He tried to fight down the sensation that he was drowning.

“Corn stuff,” Daisy replied. Stan’s heart sunk. He knew exactly what she was referring to, and it was a recipe Angie had refused to teach him.

 _“It’s passed down in my fam’ly from mother to daughter.”_ Stan tried to ignore the thought that wondered if Angie would be able to pass the recipe down to Danny and Daisy.

“I don’t know how to make that.”

“Pa does,” Tate said.

“He’s…not around.”

“What? Where is he?” Tate asked. Stan swallowed and set down Danny. 

“Gimme a sec, okay? I’m gonna go make a call.” Stan walked over to the phone in the kitchen. He dialed in the number without thinking, relying on muscle memory. 

_I can’t watch all these kids on my own. I can’t take care of ‘em._ He hesitated before punching in the last digit. _I need help._

The phone was picked up on the second ring.

“McGucket residence, Sally speakin’.”

 

**January 13, 1982**

Stan paced nervously by the front door, obsessively checking his watch.

 _Lute shoulda been here by now._ As if on cue, there was a knock. Stan opened the door.

“Hey, brother,” Lute said cheerfully. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, where’s those cute lil nieces and nephew of mine?”

“Watchin’ TV,” Stan said. He turned. “Kids, get yer stuff! Yer Uncle Lute’s here!”

“‘Kay!” Tate shouted. Stan could hear his nephew helping the girls get ready. He turned to Lute again.

“How was the drive?”

“Not too bad. Could have been worse.”

“Ah.”

“Ma ‘n Pa are lookin’ forward to spendin’ some time with their grandbabies. They don’t get to see Tate and the girls all that often.”

“Yeah, Oregon’s pretty far away from Arkansas.”

“We’re almost ready, just gettin’ shoes on!” Tate called. 

“Got it!” Stan replied. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me how Angie’s doin’,” he said to Lute.

“Well, uh, I actually stopped by the hospital on my way in, to see her. That’s why I’m a bit late.” Lute sighed. His cheerful façade slipped away, replaced by a worry that Stan had never seen in him before. “It- it ain’t right, what happened,” he said quietly. “Why’d she get hurt so bad if she only fell?”

“I dunno,” Stan said, in an equally soft tone. 

“An’ no word from Fidds?”

“Nothin’.”

“An’ Ford is?”

“Havin’ some sort of breakdown or episode or somethin’. I’m gonna go see him in a coupla days.”

“Good. Talk some sense into him.” Lute paused. He ran a hand through his hair. “Look…Stan…don’t be upset ‘bout all of this.”

“What?”

“Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed or anythin’ like that, that ya had to get help. That’s what fam’ly’s for. To help out when the chips ‘re down.” He put his hands on Stan’s shoulders. “Yer doin’ the right thing. Ya ain’t a failure as a dad, or an uncle, or a husband, or a brother.” Stan looked away.

“Geez, Lute, what makes ya think I feel like that?”

“‘Cause I know ya, brother. I know yer goin’ to blame yourself. Don’t do that. Anyways, things’ll get better. Angie’ll pull through, Fidds’ll show up, Ford’ll come to his senses.”

“What if they don’t?” Stan asked. He tried to ignore the way his voice broke. Lute hugged Stan tightly.

“They will,” Lute replied firmly. “Trust me. In a month, everything’ll be back to normal. Fidds and Tate can go on fishin’ trips, you’ll spend time with yer daughters and Angie, and Ford’ll continue to do his weird research. The girls and Tate are just goin’ to think that this is a fun vacation with their grandparents and Uncle Lute.” Stan nodded, fighting back tears. 

“Y’all should probably go,” he said. “It’s a long ride back to Gumption, especially with two toddlers and a child.” Lute grimaced.

“At least Tate’s well-behaved.”

“Don’t worry, the girls more than make up for his good behavior.” Lute cracked a small smile. He looked over Stan’s shoulder. 

“Howdy, kidlets. Y’all ready to spend some time with Uncle Lute, Gran, and Gramps?” Stan looked at the kids. Daisy seemed fairly oblivious as to the situation, bouncing on her toes excitedly. Danny and Tate, on the other hand, were acting like they were headed to a funeral.

_Not the best analogy right now, Stan._

“You kids be good fer ‘em, okay?” Stan said. Danny rushed forward and hugged one of his legs. 

“Don’t wan’ go,” she mumbled. Stan knelt down.

“I know, sweetheart. But ya have to. It’ll be good for ya to spend some time with Gran and Gramps. And yer Uncle Lute, too!” Danny squeezed him harder. Daisy dropped her bag and joined her twin in embracing Stan. Stan sniffed. He wouldn’t be able to pretend he was fine much longer. “I’ll miss ya, girls,” he said quietly. His daughters hugged him tighter. He kissed the tops of their heads and stood. “Now, go on and get in Uncle Lute’s truck. He’s probably got snacks and tunes fer ya.” Tate exited somberly, closely followed by Danny and Daisy. The girls turned around to wave before stepping outside.

“Bye, Daddy,” Danny said solemnly. Stan waved back.

“Bye, sweetheart.” Daisy pulled Danny outside. Lute hugged Stan again.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of ‘em.”

“I know.”

“You talk to Ford. Everything’ll be fine, brother.” Stan smiled weakly.

“Don’t know if I believe that. But…thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” With another worried look cast his way, Lute followed the children outside. Stan slowly closed the front door, then slid down it, not bothering to hold back his tears anymore.

 

**January 17, 1982**

Stan brushed off the snowflakes that had built up on his jacket. 

_A fuckin’ snowstorm the day I finally go to talk to Ford. Figures._ He stomped on the porch, shaking the snow off his boots, then knocked on the door. The door opened immediately, with such force that Stan took an instinctive step backward.

“Who is it?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!” Ford raved, aiming a crossbow directly at Stan’s chest. Stan stared at his twin. 

“Ya don’t look good, Ford,” he said mildly. Ford blinked.

“…Stanley.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Ford lowered the crossbow and seemed to attempt to mentally collect himself. But he couldn’t get rid of the crazed glint in his eyes, the way his clothes seemed to hang on his frame, or his completely disheveled appearance. “Look, I came to talk to ya. I haven’t heard from ya in over a week. Not since Fidds disappeared.”

“Fiddleford,” Ford mumbled. 

“Yeah. Him. Look, are ya gonna let me in or not?”

“Right, right,” Ford said, standing to the side so that Stan could walk in. He cleared his throat. “How is Angie doing?”

“Still comatose,” Stan replied. “Doc says she should wake up soon, though. She’s showing the right brain activity or whatever.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Stan took a breath. “But I don’t know how reliable that doctor is. He keeps insistin’ that Angie had to have been pushed, that her injuries aren’t ‘consistent with a mere fall’.” He looked over at Ford. Ford had a distinctly guilty expression. “What is it?”

“She _was_ pushed, Stan.” 

“Wait, what? How- how do ya know that? Who-”

“It was me. I pushed her.” Stan stared at his twin, too shocked to say anything at first. Then it clicked.

“What?!” He grabbed Ford’s shirt. “Stanford, there’s no way yer tellin’ me that ya put my wife, the mother of my children, yer own sister-in-law, in a fuckin’ coma.” 

“I didn’t! The demon possessing my body did!”

“The demon- what the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means exactly what it means! A demon took over my body and pushed Angie down the stairs.” Stan let go of Ford’s shirt and stared at his twin with disgust. 

“What have ya gotten mixed up in, Sixer?” he asked. Ford took a shaky breath.

“Nothing good.”

“Yeah, usually demons aren’t a _good fuckin’ thing_.” 

“I- I know. And, actually, I was about to call you.”

“Why?”

“I need to show you something.” 

“Does it have to do with yer odd behavior and this whole ‘demon possession’ thing you’re tryin’ to say happened?” Stan asked.

“Yes.”

“Fine, then. Lead the way.”

 

A few minutes later, Stan and Ford stood in the basement.

“What the fuck is that?” Stan asked. 

“It’s a transdimensional portal,” Ford said. “It’s the project Fiddleford and myself have been working on. Theoretically, it should enable people to travel to alternate realities. But in practice…” Stan looked at his twin, dread growing.

“What does it really do, Stanford?”

“This device is what made Fiddleford walk out. He couldn’t handle what he saw on the other side.” Ford took a deep breath. “He caught a glimpse of Bill’s dimension and lost his tenuous grasp of sanity.”

“Who the fuck is Bill?”

“The demon that I’ve been working with.”

“The same one that possessed ya and pushed Angie down the stairs?”

“Yes.”

“His name is _Bill_?”

“Yes. Look, Stanley, this machine, it’s far too dangerous to be used. I plan on dismantling it, though I haven’t done so yet, and in the meantime, I need your assistance in a very important task.” Stan eyed Ford suspiciously.

“What do ya want me to do?”

“Take this.” Ford handed Stan a thick book with a red cover, embossed with a golden six-fingered hand. “It’s my research. It contains the information necessary to build and run the portal. Take it, and leave.” 

“…What?”

“Leave. Take the research as far away as you can. To the ends of the earth.”

“Ford, there’s no fuckin’ way I’m gonna do that,” Stan said flatly. 

“Please, Stanley, I’m begging you,” Ford said. “The future of the world is at stake!”

“I ain’t leavin’ Gravity Falls without my fam’ly.” 

“Your family is asking you to do this.”

“Ford, yer not the only person I’m worried about,” Stan snapped. “Fidds is still missin’, Angie’s in a fuckin’ coma, and I can’t even watch over my kids ‘cause I’m dealin’ with your shit on top of all of it!”

“I-”

“And they’re _your_ fam’ly, too! Have ya even thought about your son since Fidds left?” Ford’s facial expression broke.

“Tate…”

“He’s in Gumption with Sally and Mearl. And so are Danny and Daisy. Lute picked ‘em up a coupla days ago. You’re not the only person who’s in trouble or havin’ a rough time, Ford.” 

“Stanley, I know how important your children are, but please, consider their safety over the safety of the world.”

“My fam’ly _is_ my world, Sixer. Take your book back. I don’t want it. I don’t want your shit to follow me and hurt Angie or the girls. Not any more than it already has.” Stan shoved the book back at Ford.

“I can’t be trusted with it!” Ford said, throwing it back. 

“Fine, then!” Stan shouted. He dug a lighter out of his pocket. “I’ll burn it. Then maybe we’ll be free of this witchcraft-bullshit-insanity ya drug all of us into.”

“No, Stanley, my research!” Ford said, trying the grab the book back from him. 

“You gave me it, I’m gonna do what I want with it!” Stan ran from his twin, clicking the lighter. “C’mon, work, ya piece of shit.”

“No!” Stan was tackled to the ground by Ford. The book went flying out of his hands and into the control room. Stan shoved Ford off of him and raced toward the book. He picked it up, only to be shoved again by Ford, into the control panel. “Stanley, give it back!”

“Like hell I will!” Stan snarled over the hum that had begun as the machine started up. “This thing’s messin’ with yer mind, Sixer! It needs to be destroyed.” 

“My years of work would be wasted!” Ford shouted, attempting to pull the book out of Stan’s grip. He kicked Stan in the chest, succeeding in pulling the book away. Stan landed against the side of the control panel. A blindingly hot pain bloomed on his shoulder. Stan screamed. Ford blanched. “I’m so sorry, I-” Stan punched Ford. Ford scrambled backwards as Stan advanced on him.

“I thought ya knew better!” Stan roared, his mind swirling with the weight of his responsibilities and the fresh burn smoldering on his skin. 

“Stanley, I-”

“I thought ya knew better than to put your science shit before fam’ly! But ya never learn, do ya? If you want your research so bad, you should keep it!” Stan shoved his twin. Ford’s feet passed the yellow and black striped hazard line. Ford began to float into the air, pulled toward the portal. Stan snapped out of his blind rage. “Whoa, hey, what’s-”

“Stanley, help me!” Ford shouted desperately. 

“What? What do I do?” Stan called back. Ford continued to fight against the portal’s pull.

“Stanley, please! Do something!” Panicked, Ford threw the book at Stan. It landed squarely in Stan’s hands. Stan watched in horror, unable to move, as his twin disappeared through the portal. 

There was a shudder that shook the foundations of the house, and a bright flash of white light. It suddenly vanished, leaving afterimages in Stan’s eyes and the echo of Ford’s screams in his ears. Ford’s glasses landed on the ground a few feet away from him. Stan sat heavily on the ground, in the dark, completely numb.

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being _very_ long. I did not mean for it to be this long, but I had a lot of angst I needed to write, to offset the fluff from the previous couple of chapters. The next chapter will also be a bit angst, but not nearly as much as this chapter.  
>  As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	14. A Lovely Day for a Funeral

**January 17, 1982**

“You girls havin’ a good time with Gran and Gramps?” Stan asked, trying to inject some false happiness into his tone.

“It’s okay,” Danny said quietly. 

“Can we come home?” Daisy asked. Stan bit his lip and tried to force back tears.

“Not yet, junebug.”

“I wanna see Ma,” Danny said. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But she’s still sleepin’. I’ll let you guys know when she wakes up, okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said. 

“Don’t worry. Your ma and I will come to pick you up sometime soon, hopefully. But right now, ya need to go to bed.”

“G’night, Dad.”

“Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Stan hung up the phone and stared at it blankly for a few moments, before returning to Angie’s hospital room. He sat in the chair next to her bed and put his head in his hands. His shoulder was in agonizing pain from the burn he’d gotten only hours before.

_But I can’t leave her alone. What if she wakes up and I’m not here? Maybe- maybe it would be better if I wasn’t. All I’ve done is fuck up everything._

“I can’t do anything,” he whispered, tears beginning to fall. “I can’t take care of my kids, I can’t protect my fam’ly or my wife, I can’t even scrape together enough money to get a good doctor. I- I don’t know how I’m gonna feed myself or pay these hospital bills. I could barely afford to call my daughters. 

“I shoulda never gone to Arkansas. If- if I hadn’t, then Fidds wouldn’t be missin’, Ford wouldn’t be god-knows-where, and you wouldn’t be in the hospital. I’m sorry, Angie. I ruined your fam’ly.” 

“Stan?” Stan’s head jerked up. His breath caught. Angie had turned her head to face him. Her eyes were open. 

“Angie! Oh, thank god, you’re finally awake!” He grabbed her hand. 

“What was all that ‘bout?” she whispered, as though it required a lot of effort to speak. “Fidds and Ford are gone?” Stan could hear something wrong with her voice then. Some of the words were slurring together, and she stumbled over the beginning of a few of them.

_The doctor said the head trauma might cause some trouble with talking._

“Yes. But don’t worry, we’ll find ‘em. After you’re outta here.” 

“What happened?” Stan looked around nervously.

“Babe, I don’t wanna talk about that here. And ya need to save your strength. We can talk about all of this when you’re home.” 

“Stan, yer worryin’ me.”

“I know. But Fidds wouldn’t want ya to work yourself up over him.” Angie nodded slowly.

“Ya have a point.” She squeezed his hand. “Where are the girls and Tate?”

“Gumption.”

“Ma ‘n Pa are watchin’ ‘em?”

“Yeah.” 

“That’s good.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know if I can stay awake much longer, Stan. I’m awful tired.”

“Get your sleep,” Stan said. He kissed her. “Just promise me you’ll wake up.”

 

**October 12, 1985**

Stan walked into the gift shop, turning the sign to read “CLOSED” as he did so. Angie was sitting at the register poring over bills.

“Any luck?” she asked without looking up.

“Nope. No one wants to work at the Murder Hut.”

“About that… a name change might help.”

“Why do ya want to hire someone so bad?” Stan asked, taking a seat next to her. One of Angie’s hands strayed to her stomach.

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout the future is all,” she said softly. “Gettin’ some help would make things easier in a few months.” Stan sighed.

“I know. And I’m tryin’.”

“If only Fidds were here…”

“Angie, it’s been three years since we’ve seen him. I don’t think he’s comin’ back.” There was a loud crash from the kitchen. Stan and Angie leapt up. 

“What was that?” Angie asked. Stan put a hand on her shoulder.

“Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

“Ma! Dad!”

“The kids!” Angie gasped. She took off, Stan close behind. Stan beat her to the kitchen and tackled the intruder to the ground. “Kids, get over here,” Angie said briskly. Danny and Daisy did as they were told. Tate didn’t move, instead staring at the intruder with wide eyes.

“Tate!” Danny whimpered. 

“Who do ya think you are?” Stan shouted at the strange man.

“…Pa?” Tate said hesitantly.

“What?” Stan looked at the man he had attacked. “Holy shi- shoot. Fiddleford?”

“Yes- yessir,” Fiddleford stammered. “Could ya get off me?”

“Oh. Right.” Stan got up and helped Fiddleford to his feet.

“Fidds?” Angie said. Fiddleford nodded, not making eye contact with anyone. “Fidds, where have ya been fer the last three years?” 

“I- I can’t say,” Fiddleford said woodenly. Angie and Stan exchanged a worried look.

“Kids, go brush yer teeth and go to bed,” Angie said gently.

“Will ya tuck us in?” Danny asked.

“Of course, sweetheart. Once we’re done talkin’ with yer Uncle Fiddleford. Now, go on upstairs, all three of ya. That’s right, you too, Tate.” The three children left the room, looking back at the adults on their way out. Stan pulled up a chair at the table.

“All right, Fidds, take a seat. I think we need to have a conversation.”

“Agreed,” Angie said, sitting down next to Stan. Fiddleford eyed the nearest chair suspiciously, as though it might attack him. “Fidds, come on. Sit down.” He did as he was told, continuing to refuse to make eye contact. 

“The kids look good,” he said in a jittery voice. “Tate seems like he’s doin’ well, and the girls are awful cute. Have ya thought ‘bout havin’ more kids?”

“Yes, actually,” Angie said. “But that’s not what we need to talk about.”

“Where were ya?” Stan asked. “We looked everywhere.”

“I- I can’t recall,” Fiddleford said weakly. “I woke up this mornin’ and couldn’t even ‘member my own name.” Angie made a small, distressed sound. “It came back pretty quick,” Fiddleford said, “but I’m still missin’ some things. I know Tate is my son, but who’s his other parent?” Stan got the odd feeling that something inside of him had just dropped.

“Ya- ya really don’t know?” Stan asked. Fiddleford shook his head. 

“Maybe it’s fer the best,” Angie said quietly, rubbing one of Fiddleford’s hands. “This way, ya can avoid some heartbreak.” Fiddleford smiled weakly at her.

“When did my baby sister get so dang mature?”

“Around the time I had to raise my nephew and two daughters, help my husband run a business, continue to do my own research, and go to speech therapy,” Angie said. Fiddleford’s face broke. “Things have been rough ‘round here, Fidds. Ya can’t show up and expect us to sweep everythin’ under the rug just ‘cause we missed ya. Ya were gone durin’ the most difficult part of all of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Fiddleford said softly.

“I know ya are.” 

“Ma? Are you gonna tuck us in?” Daisy called from upstairs. Angie stood.

“Comin’, junebug!” She gave Stan a gentle kiss and left the room. Fiddleford’s eyes widened at the sight of her profile.

“Ya weren’t jokin’ ‘bout havin’ another kid, huh?”

“It’s more than one. Again.”

“When are they due?”

“March. But that’s not what’s important,” Stan said. “Angie was right. You up and left at the worst moment.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t change what happened.” Stan sighed. “But yer here now, and that’s what matters. As you can guess, we’re gonna need some extra help ‘round the place in a few months. Are ya gonna stay this time?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me, brother.”

“I promise.”

 

**May 24, 1993**

“Mystery Shack, how can I help ya?”

“Stanley…” Stan’s heart stopped at his mother’s tone.

“What is it, mom?”

“It’s- it’s Filbrick. He- he had a heart attack yesterday and he, uh, he passed away. They called it a coupla minutes ago.” Stan froze, the phone nearly slipping out of his hand. “I know there wasn’t any love lost between you and your father, but I-” Ma Pines paused. She continued speaking in a choked up voice. “-I thought you should know.” The ground seemed to fall out from under Stan. It felt like the world had stopped moving. 

“Dad, I wanna lollypop,” Emmett, one of his seven-year-old twin sons, said, tugging at his shirt. “Can I take one from the gift shop?” Stan didn’t respond. “Dad?” When his father continued to stay silent, Emmett ran off, shouting for his older sisters. 

“You don’t need to come to the service. Hell, I doubt you’d want to if even I begged,” Ma Pines continued. “But a boy needs to know when his father dies.”

“Y-yeah,” Stan finally stammered. “Th-thanks, mom. And…I’m sorry you’re gonna be on yer own now.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll be fine. More or less.” Ma Pines sniffled, somehow making the sound elegant. “And I’ll wanna talk to those grandkids of mine next time I call, okay? Given that they’re yours, those girls and boys oughtta be raising hell, and I wanna know what kind of hell it is.”

“Okay, mom.” 

“I love you, Stanley.”

“I love ya, too.” Stan hung up the phone and stared at it on the hook for a few seconds, before stumbling backwards drunkenly. 

“Whoa, whoa, dad!” Daisy said, barely catching him. “I’m not strong enough to hold you up!” Stan stood and turned around. Emmett was hiding behind Daisy, who looked concerned. 

_That’s the same look Angie gets when she’s worried._

“Emmett came and got me,” Daisy said. “He said something was wrong, that you weren’t talking to him. Is everything all right?” Stan ran a hand through his hair. 

_I can’t be a good dad right now. I can’t._ He swallowed, remembering whose death he had just been told of. _But I have to._

“Yeah, junebug. Everything’s fine.” Daisy eyed him suspiciously. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I just need a moment is all. You and Danny take over tours for the rest of today, okay?”

“Okay, but-” Stan walked away before Daisy could finish talking. Like before, noises and things seemed to fade, until he was relying only upon muscle memory to get to his bed and sit down heavily. 

_Why am I upset? That bastard never cared about me, he never supported me, never loved me. I should be glad that he’s gone. But I’m not. And it’s not just ‘cause Mom’ll be on her own now._ A voice broke through the mental fog that had surrounded him.

“Stan?” He felt the bed sag slightly as someone sat next to him and put a gentle arm around his shoulders. “The kids said somethin’s wrong. What happened?” Angie asked in a soft voice. 

“My pops is dead.” 

“…Oh. I’m so sorry, darlin’.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be dancin’ on that fucker’s grave. But I- I miss him.”

“Feelin’s don’t always make sense,” Angie said. She stroked his cheek. “Are ya goin’ to be fine on yer own, or do ya want me to stay?” 

“…You can go if you-”

“Do ya want me to stay?”

“If ya want,” Stan said, trying to sound casual. Angie sighed.

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ vulnerable sometimes, Stanley. Nothin’ wrong with needin’ help, or a lovin’ touch.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Maybe someday I’ll get through that thick skull of yours.” Stan chuckled, despite himself. Angie laced her fingers with his. “You’ll get through this, Stanley Pines. Ya got through tragedy ‘fore. You’ll do it again.”

“…Yeah.” He knew she was talking about Ford, completely oblivious as to his attempts to get the machine up and running again. Stan squeezed Angie’s hand. She responded by nestling herself against him.

_Ford…I wonder what he would think about Pops being dead. I guess I’ll have to ask him when he gets back._ He could feel Angie’s steady breathing, the warmth from her body percolating into his. _I’m gonna bring him back. I have to._

 

**April 6, 1998**

“Dad?” Stan looked up from his latest taxidermy creation, an unholy combination of a largemouth bass and a peregrine falcon.

“What is it, Emmett?” he asked.

“Em wanted to talk to you ‘n Ma about something.” Stan frowned at his youngest child.

“What? It better not be another appeal ‘bout the banned activities list. Y’all know the rules. Once somethin’s on that list, you’re not gonna do it.” Emmett shook his head, making his brown curls bounce. At twelve years old, he was already taller than Angie, and showed a distinct resemblance to his McGucket relatives.

“No. I mean, I _do_ think some of the things on the list should be reconsidered-”

“Emmett…”

“-but the thing Em wants to talk about is different,” Emmett finished. 

“Where are they?”

“The kitchen.” 

“Got it.” Stan exited the room he had designated as his “workshop”. He looked back, but Emmett wasn’t following. “Ya comin’?” Emmett shook his head again. 

“Em just wanted to talk to you and Ma.”

“All right.” 

_The kids never wanna talk to us one-on-one unless they got in trouble. What did Emory do this time?_ Lost in his thoughts, Stan didn’t watch where he stepped. As a result, he didn’t notice Danny’s latest project, a semi-sentient toaster, laying on the floor. 

“Hot Belgian waffles!” Stan roared upon stubbing his toe on his oldest child’s experiment. The toaster made a sad beeping noise. “Danica Viola Pines!”

“Yeah?” Danny called. Her voice was a bit distant; she was probably upstairs doing homework. She was trying to get it out of the way so that she could enjoy most of her Spring Break.

“Ya can’t leave your stuff layin’ ‘round the house!” 

“Sorry, Dad!”

“Come get yer toaster thing ‘fore someone else gets hurt!” There was a momentary pause.

“Can I get it in a lil bit? I’m almost done with my essay.” Stan sighed.

“Fine.” He nudged the toaster off to the side so that no one else would trip over it and finished making his way to the kitchen. Angie was sitting at the table with Emory, Emmett’s older twin. Stan kissed his son and wife on the head before taking a seat next to Angie. 

“Danny’s stuff hurt ya, huh?” Angie said. Stan nodded.

“We’ve got too many kids, Angie.”

“No we don’t.”

“Okay, but the girls are mad scientists. Still can’t believe Danny got into MIT, since her experiment she presented was a death robot.” He cracked his back before settling into a more comfortable sitting position. “What’s goin’ on, squirt?” As the shortest of the children, Emory had picked up that nickname early on. Emory took a deep breath.

“It’s- there’s somethin’ I need to tell ya.” His voice broke. “But I’m a bit scared.” 

“Oh, hon, don’t be,” Angie said immediately. “We’re always here fer ya.” Stan nodded. Emory took another breath.

“I- I’m not a boy.” Stan blinked. He looked at Angie, who had a perplexed expression on her face. “I talked to Uncle Fidds about it and- and he said that he’s a similar sorta way and-”

“Sweet potata,” Angie said gently, “are ya sayin’ yer transgender?” Emory nodded hesitantly.

“Y-yes. I- I’m a girl. And maybe you’ll be good about it, maybe you won’t but I thought should tell ya.” 

“Why wouldn’t we be good about it?” Stan asked. Emory looked at him.

“I- I just know that yer proud to have two sons and-”

“I’m proud of all of ya. Son or daughter, mad scientist or child that _doesn’t_ blow up the house every other week,” Stan said airily. He squinted at Emory. “But if ya get married, you’re keepin’ the Pines last name, right? I know Danny’s not plannin’ on it.” Emory cracked a half-smile.

“Stan,” Angie sighed. “Hon, how do ya want us to refer to ya?” she asked her child. Emory brushed aside caramel-colored bangs. 

“W-well. Um, she and her and stuff like that.”

“That’s a given,” Angie said. “I was talkin’ ‘bout yer name.”

“Oh! Uh, I dunno,” Emory said with a shrug. 

“Our other name choice was Emily,” Stan suggested. “From ‘fore you were born.” Emory nodded slowly.

“I- I like that.” Angie smiled kindly.

“Then that’s what we’ll call ya.” 

“Emily Pines does sound better than Emory Pines,” Stan said idly. Angie rolled her eyes. 

“Yer just sayin’ that ‘cause I picked Emory and you picked Emily.” 

“I’m just better at namin’ things.”

“Ya named that dang goat Gompers,” Angie said. She frowned. “Where is that critter, by the way?”

“Uh, I think Daisy wanted to use Gompers fer something,” Emily said. 

“Isn’t usin’ pets in experiments on the banned list?” Angie asked. She looked over at the fridge, where the list of things the children were not allowed to do was kept. She picked up her half-moon reading glasses, which she kept on a chain around her neck, and put them on to squint at the list. 

“Well?” Stan asked after a few seconds had passed. Angie groaned.

“It ain’t on the list.” There was a loud _crash_ from somewhere inside the house. 

“It’s gonna be now,” Stan grumbled. 

“Gompers, no!” Daisy’s shout was accompanied by a series of destructive sounds.

“I told ya, they’re mad scientists,” Stan said firmly. He frowned at Emily. “And since it turns out you’re a girl, you’ll be one too, won’t ya.” Emily grinned.

“Maybe. I do like explosions.” 

“That’s too bad for you, then.” Stan stood up. “Explosions were the first thing on the list.” He set off to investigate the damage to the house. 

 

**August 17, 2009**

The sun was bright, the air was warm, the sky was a gentle blue. It was a beautiful fall day. 

Stan stood stoically next to his wife and kept his gaze trained on the casket being lowered into the ground. 

“Today, we lay to rest Dulcimearl Raymond McGucket,” the pastor began. Stan could feel Angie’s whole body shuddering with grief. He put a gentle arm around her shoulders. “Mearl, as everyone called him, was a pillar of this community. His fam’ly was one of the founding fam’lies of Gumption, and he embodied the spirit of our founders: honesty, hospitality, and, well, gumption. To him, fam’ly was of the utmost importance, and he poured himself to helping his daughters and sons, including those who were not biologically his, but spiritually his. He always dreamed of becoming an artist. In a way, he did; his children were his greatest works of art.

“Mearl never went to college, and insisted his children have the opportunities he didn’t. He fought the Gumption School District tooth and nail to make sure his fam’ly was taken care of. Mearl was a kind, gentle soul, but never afraid to fight for those he loved. A true Christian, he opened his heart and home to all, regardless of background, religion, or any other factor. Though many in his fam’ly were dif’rent, he accepted and loved them all, as any father should.” Stan glanced over at Fiddleford, who was standing next to Lute woozily. 

_He looks like he could topple over if there’s a mildly strong breeze._

“Dulcimearl is outlived by his wife, Sally, his seven children, his ten grandchildren, and his eighteen great-grandchildren, as well as numerous nieces and nephews. He was the last of his siblings to pass away.” The pastor bowed his head solemnly. “He will be missed.” That was the last straw for Angie, who began to sob in earnest.

“Ma, it’s okay,” Emily said softly, hugging her mother. “He’s in a better place now.” Stan squeezed Angie in a comforting manner as she continued to cry. He looked over at Lute and Fiddleford again. Lute had a calm expression, belying the tears streaming down his face. Fiddleford was now leaning against Basstian, pale and devastated. 

“Would anyone like to say a few words?” the pastor asked. Stan removed his arm from around Angie’s shoulders and took a step forward. The pastor nodded at him. Stan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Mearl saw me stranded on the side of a road in New Jersey when I was seventeen,” he began. “And even though he didn’t know anything about me, he invited me to live with him, and his fam’ly. I don’t wanna think about what might’ve happened, if he hadn’t seen me back then.

“I didn’t know what a good dad was like until I met him. Some part of me wishes I didn’t know, that I hadn’t met Mearl, ‘cause then I wouldn’t be- be hurtin’. But more of me is happy that I got the chance to find a fam’ly that cared about me and- and loved me.” Tears began to well up in Stan’s eyes. “And all of that is ‘cause of Mearl.” He looked at the casket. “I’m gonna miss you, Dad.” He stepped back again, biting his lip in an attempt not to cry. Emmett and Daisy wrapped their arms around him in a tight hug. Emily and Danny were still trying to comfort Angie, whose tears were dampening her dress. The pastor looked over at Ma McGucket.

“Would his widow like to say something?” Ma McGucket nodded and stepped forward regally. She was the most composed of anyone at the funeral, something Stan had noticed right away.

_She always keeps her head when things go to shit._ Ma McGucket brushed a strand of snow-white hair away from her face in the same manner as Angie and Violynn often did. She cleared her throat and began to speak.

“I met Mearl when I was in college. Things happened pretty dang fast after that, and I ended up balancin’ bein’ a mom with finishin’ my degree. Mearl was always there. When I had a night class, he put the kids to bed on his own. He made meals. He changed diapers and gave baths and read bedtime stories. He was the love of my life, my soulmate, my forever partner.

“Mearl had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met. Not ‘cause he was southern, but ‘cause that’s just who he was. He was a father to everyone, even if they weren’t born his children.” Ma McGucket met Stan’s eyes and cracked a small, sad smile. “I shudder to think of how the lives of everyone here would be dif’rent, if it weren’t fer Mearl’s kindness.” She looked down at the casket. “Near the end, he struggled a lot. We both knew he’d be joinin’ his sisters, brothers, and parents in Heaven soon. He told me to take care of everyone when he was gone. And I aim to do that.” She looked up again, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Y’all may have lost a father, but yer mother’s still here. And I’m stayin’ fer a while. I’ll wait to join Mearl until I can tell him an’ Saint Peter for certainty that everyone in this fam’ly is safe and sound. 

“I’ll miss him every minute of every day. But I ain’t leavin’. I’ve got an eternity to spend with him after this life. Five, ten, fifteen years ain’t goin’ to make a difference in Heaven, but it’ll make a difference here on Earth. Like Mearl always said, fam’ly comes first.” 

Stan couldn’t hold back his tears anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, that was a heavy chapter. I know that I've left a lot of loose ends from previous chapters unresolved, but don't worry, things like how the McGuckets took Ford's disappearance, Stan's kids, and the founding of the Mystery Shack will be addressed soon. I had to get all this plot stuff out of the way first. But as of this chapter, we are officially caught up! Everything from here on takes place in the summer of 2012. Get ready to see Dipper and Mabel (and Soos and Wendy) in the chapters to come!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	15. Forty-One Years Later

**July 30, 2012**

Dipper and Mabel were finally in bed. Stan could hear them moving around upstairs, but at least they’d have a harder time eavesdropping from the attic. As he talked on the phone in the kitchen, Stan looked outside. Some sort of bear-thing was chasing gnomes in the backyard.

_Just a normal Monday here in Gravity Falls_ , he thought tiredly.

“So I took the kids on a trip to some of the other tourist traps in Oregon,” Stan said.

“Mm-hmm,” Angie replied, on the other end of the phone. “This weren’t a ‘business trip’, were it?”

“I have no clue what ya mean.”

“Did ya use child labor to ruin yer competition’s places of business?”

“See, now when ya say it like that, it sounds dirty,” Stan said, slightly put out. Angie chuckled softly. 

“Did anythin’ interestin’ happen on this trip?”

“I almost got eaten by a spider-lady.”

“A spider-lady?”

“Yeah.”

“What was her name?”

“Why are you interested in knowing her name?” 

“My college roommate is a spider-person.”

“Marley?”

“Yep.”

“Her name was Darlene.” There was a shuffle over the phone as Angie apparently shifted her phone from one ear to the other.

“Ya shoulda told me ya were goin’ to see spider-people. Darlene is Marley’s cousin. She prob’ly wouldn’t have tried to eat ya if she knew who ya were.”

“Dammit. See, this is why ya need to come back. Ya get me outta all sortsa sticky situations.” Angie laughed again. “Seriously, though, when are ya gettin’ back?”

“I’ll be in Gravity Falls in a week or so. I’m in the Augusta airport right now, to head over to California and stay with Harper and Emmett fer a bit. Emmett’s got that dance recital,” Angie replied. She paused. “That’s the boardin’ call. Real quick, anythin’ else ya wanted to tell me?”

“Ford’s back,” Stan blurted out. There was a clatter and shuffling over the line.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Angie said. “I dropped the phone. Now, _what_ did ya just say?”

“Ford’s back.”

“An’ how is that even possible? I thought ya said there wasn’t any way to bring him back.”

“I lied,” Stan said simply.

“Fer _thirty years_?”

“Yes.” Stan could practically feel Angie’s anger, even though she was on the other side of the country. 

“Ya _lied_ to me!”

“Angie, I-”

“Ya promised ya would never do that! Ya know how I feel ‘bout lyin’!”

“Angie-”

“Did ya forget what my fam’ly is all about? It’s ‘bout bein’ open and truthful! Ya just shit over everythin’ my fam’ly stands for. Everything _your_ fam’ly stands for. Yer a McGucket, act like it fer _once_ in-”

“Angie, listen!” She went silent. “Ya remember what happened last time ya got mixed up in Stanford’s weirdness, right? Ya ended up in the hospital fer two weeks. In a fuckin’ coma fer most of it. I did it to protect ya.”

“It don’t matter how noble it was, it’s still wrong. And yer not goin’ to get off easy.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” She was silent for a minute. “Angie?”

“We’ll talk when I get back,” she replied shortly and hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. Stan slammed the phone on the hook.

“Shit, fuck,” he swore softly. He ran his hands through his hair. “Goddammit.”

“Was that Ma?” Stan turned around to face the speaker, Emily.

“Yeah. It was.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s pissed at me.”

“Well, duh,” Emily said. “Ya lied to her for longer than I’ve been alive!”

“I know, smartass.”

“Dipper and Mabel aren’t too pleased, either. Mostly Dipper. That kid can hold a grudge.” Emily sighed. “Look, Dad, I’m gonna be honest. Ya messed up.”

“Don’t need to tell me that,” Stan muttered.

“You should’ve been tellin’ Ma ‘bout this nonsense from the start!”

“Look, I don’t need to be scolded by my own kid,” Stan snapped. Emily raised her eyebrows.

“Wow, that’s mature,” she said sarcastically. Stan glowered at her. “I know yer a bit upset, Dad. And ya don’t like bein’ on bad terms with Ma.” Emily moved forward. “She’ll get over it. But…give her some time.” Emily wrapped her arms around Stan in a tight hug. “We all need some time.” Stan rested his chin on top of her head and squeezed her back in response.

“Yeah.”

“I know things didn’t go the way you wanted. But seriously, it’s just- give Ma some time, give Uncle Ford some time, give Dipper and Mabel some time. We’ll be back to normal ‘fore ya know it.” Stan buried his face in his daughter’s caramel-colored hair.

“When did ya get so smart?” he whispered. 

“I’ve always been smart. You know. You were there,” Emily replied. Stan smiled. “I’m gonna go to bed now. Night, Dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” Emily broke off the hug and walked away. A door opened and closed. Stan looked over at Ford, sitting at the table in the living room. After a moment, he walked over and took a seat across from his twin.

“So, you and Angie had another child, then?” Ford asked, once a few minutes had passed. Stan leaned back in his chair. Ford tried to not stare, but it was difficult. He took a drink from his glass of whisky.

_Sweet Moses, it’s strange to see Stan as an old man._

“Nah, Emily’s mine and Fidds’ kid,” Stan said idly. Ford coughed in shock, spewing whisky across the table. Stan grinned. “Gotcha.”

“Stanley!”

“You were right. Emily’s mine ‘n Angie’s. Third one,” Stan said over Ford’s continued sputters. “Third outta four, actually. And, uh, ya might be interested in the fourth one.” Ford watched curiously as Stan took out a wallet and began to shuffle through it. “Ah! Here,” Stan said, sliding a picture across the table. Ford picked it up. It was of a young man with brown hair, rectangular glasses, and the distinctive McGucket nose. There was a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes that Ford recognized as identical to Stan’s. 

“This is your fourth child?” Ford clarified. Stan nodded.

“Yep. Only son. Emmett. Emily’s twin.”

“You had twins twice? That’s bad luck,” Ford said. Stan shrugged. 

“Not so much for me as fer Angie. I mean, she’s the person what had to give birth to ‘em. And Emily and Emmett were trouble-makers from the start. Premature, emergency C-section, complications, the whole thing. Doc said Angie probably shouldn’t have any more kids after they were born. But we were done anyways.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been rough,” Ford said softly. Stan shrugged again.

“Most of Angie’s siblings, and her Ma and Pa, came up while Angie was recoverin’ from the birth. Helped out around the house, watched the kids. Stayed until she was back to normal.”

“That was very kind of them.”

“It got old pretty fast, actually. We practically had to physically remove ‘em from the house.” Stan poured himself a glass of whisky and downed half of it in one swallow. “But that’s not why I brought up Emmett. I brought him up ‘cause, well, I think meetin’ him would be helpful fer both of ya. Mostly him, but hey, it’d be nice for ya, too. Meetin’ yer nephew.” 

“Not that I’m disagreeing, but why do you say that?” Ford asked, handing the picture back to Stan. Stan drummed his fingers on the table and looked away.

“His full name’s Emmett Stanford McGucket.” 

“…What?” Ford asked quietly. Stan sighed.

“It was Angie’s idea. I kept tryin’ to push Stanjamin, and then she said that Stanford was barely even a name, and she got that look in her eye, and when that happens, nothin’ ‘ll change her mind.”

“You named your son after me?” Ford asked. Stan nodded, still refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s not like we did it fer no reason, though. Emmett’s like ya. But instead of twelve fingers, he’s got twelve toes.” 

“Oh. Two of your children are polydactyls?”

“Yeah. Apparently, it’s a weird enough thing that Daisy used it for her senior thesis. She’s a geneticist, y’know. Right now, she’s back at the farm, tryin’ to breed ‘super crops’ or somethin’ like that.” A proud smile formed on Stan’s face. “Smart cookie, that one. All of ‘em, really. Don’t know how a knucklehead like me got such bright kids.”

“What about Danny? What’s she up to?” Ford asked. Stan grinned even more broadly.

“She builds doomsday machines for the government. Top-secret Pentagon job. Since she’s so busy, her husband’s a stay-at-home dad.”

“You have a grandchild?” Ford asked, surprised. Stan let out a bark of laughter.

“I’ve got _five_ , Sixer. And another one on the way.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Danny’s got the triplets and Benji, and then she told us just a couple months ago that she’s havin’ another one. And Emmett’s got Lucy. Man, Lucy’s the sweetest little thing. Her mom left, though, pretty soon after she was born.” Stan’s smile faded slightly. “Good thing that Harper and Lute are around to help Emmett with her.” 

“I- I can’t believe you’re a grandfather,” Ford said. Stan eyed Ford and quirked an eyebrow. 

“So are you.” Ford’s heart stopped.

“What?”

“Tate’s got a couple kids. Boy and a girl. They actually live here, in Gravity Falls.”

“Is Fiddleford here as well?” Ford asked. Stan looked away. 

“That’s, uh, that’s somethin’ you should talk to Angie about.” Ford stared at Stan.

“What? Why?” he asked. Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t wanna get into it. It’s late.”

“…I suppose it is.” Ford took another drink from his glass. He sighed heavily. “Stanley. This ‘Mystery Shack’ business has to end.”

“Figured.”

“I won’t kick you out tomorrow, or anything like that,” Ford continued, “but I do expect you to leave my house eventually. The end of the summer, ideally.”

“I’m not the only person who lives here.”

“You and Angie can find a place, I’m sure,” Ford said. Stan scoffed.

“That’s one hell of a thanks.”

“…What?”

“I spend thirty years bringin’ ya back, and ya don’t bother to say ‘Hey, thanks for doin’ that’? No, all I get is an eviction notice,” Stan said bitterly.

“Thank you? Why would I thank you?” Ford demanded. “You pushed me into that portal, and through your foolhardy, bullheaded stubbornness, you have put the universe in danger by opening it up again!” Stan stared at him for a few seconds.

“…Whatever,” Stan said. He stood up. “Look, Stanford, I- I don’t want ya draggin’ these kids into your bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The same bullshit that ended with ya puttin’ my wife in a coma. Keep the kids outta it, okay?”

“I would never-”

“I don’t care. I can live without a thank you fer haulin’ yer wrinkly old ass back home. But I can’t live with you hurtin’ my fam’ly.”

“They’re my family as well.”

“Never stopped ya before,” Stan shot back. He left the room huffily. Ford watched him leave, fighting the temptation to call out after him. His gaze dropped down to the table, where he could see his reflection in the dregs of his drink.

“Welcome back, Stanford Pines,” he muttered idly.

 

**July 31, 2012**

Stan walked into the kitchen. Dipper, Mabel, and Emily looked up from their breakfast.

“About time ya got up, old man,” Emily said. “I had to get these gremlins breakfast without ya.” Stan didn’t respond, instead squinting at something in his hand. “Uh, what are you doin’?”

“Yer ma sent me a picture,” Stan said. “But I can’t unlock it.” Emily sighed.

“Dad, ya don’t ‘unlock’ picture messages.”

“I can’t see it, though.”

“Lemme see.” Emily snatched the thing out of Stan’s hand. “Can’t use a dang phone, but ya can build a death machine in the basement,” she muttered. Mabel and Dipper frowned.

“That’s a phone?” Mabel asked. Emily nodded. 

“There’s no way that’s a phone,” Dipper said. 

“Ma made him get one a while back,” Emily said, clicking buttons. “He doesn’t do anything with it. Just keeps it around so my ma and siblings can get a hold of him.” She rolled her eyes. “He even uses a default ringtone.”

“That should be a crime,” Mabel said.

“Agreed,” Emily said. She handed the phone back to Stan. “Here ya go. Looks like she met up with Emmett and Uncle Harper.”

“You have siblings?” Dipper asked. Emily nodded and took another bite of her cereal.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got three. Two older, one younger.” She squinted at Dipper. “How did ya not know that?”

“It’s not like he tells us anything,” Mabel said. “Except for like, ‘Touch that and you owe me thirty bucks!’”

“I forget all the time that he’s married,” Dipper added. Emily grabbed Stan’s phone from him again.

“Hey!” Stan barked. Emily clicked a few buttons, then turned the phone’s screen to face her cousins.

“That’s my ma, my twin brother Emmett, and my Uncle Harper,” Emily said, pointing out her family members. Mabel gasped.

“Your mom’s so pretty!”

“Yeah, she’s pretty much outta Dad’s league,” Emily said nonchalantly. Stan squinted at his daughter.

“Watch it, kid.” Emily stuck her tongue out in response. Stan playfully whapped her over the head with his newspaper, eliciting a chortle from her. She handed back the phone.

“But see, Dad, I told ya Ma would start feelin’ a bit better. She just needed some time to deal with the lyin’.” Stan shook his head. “What?”

“She sent me one of those word messages, too.”

“Text,” Mabel supplied helpfully. Stan frowned at her.

“Stop makin’ noise just to make noise. Too early fer that.”

“What did Ma say?” Emily asked.

“Somethin’ ‘bout how they’re goin’ to get toffee peanuts from place I like in San Diego.”

“That’s good!”

“And eat all of ‘em.” Stan huffed. “And Harper’s still gonna record Emmett’s performance, but keep the tape. I don't get to watch it.”

“Oh. Yeesh.” Emily looked over at Mabel and Dipper. “Ma can be a bit savage sometimes.”

“That’s probably because she’s secretly a werewolf,” Mable said confidently. Emily blinked.

“What?”

“Yeah, Mabel thinks Grunkle Stan’s wife has to be a werewolf or something,” Dipper said.

“Okay, but seriously, what kind of person would Grunkle Stan marry?” Mabel asked. “ _I_ think a wolf-lady is a perfect match for someone like him. Or like, a mountain woman.”

“So, basically, someone half-wild,” Emily said, amused. Stan grunted. “I could see that.”

“Cool it, squirt,” Stan said warningly. Emily propped her elbows on the table.

“What about you, Dipper? What’re yer thoughts?”

“Some sorta cat burglar or thief or scammer or something,” Dipper said. Emily laughed. 

“Did ya bother to ask Soos or Wendy what she’s like?” Stan grumbled. Dipper and Mabel shook their heads.

“That takes all the fun out of it, Grunkle Stan! And anyways, it’s so obvious that she’s a werewolf.”

“If she is, she hasn’t told me,” Stan said, shuffling out of the kitchen. 

“I’ll give you two a hint,” Emily said. “If my ma was ‘round, there’s no way that Dad woulda been able to keep up his ‘Gravity Falls is normal’ façade. Like, if ya mentioned seein’ Bigfoot’s footprint, she’d say somethin’ like ‘Well, of course he’s real, I had lunch with him last Wednesday.’”

“Well, yeah,” Mabel said. “Bigfoot is _so_ the type to have lunch with werewolves.” Emily beamed at her cousins.

“I like you kids.” 

“Aw, shucks,” Mabel said, waving a hand airily.

“Good morning, children.” Emily, Dipper, and Mabel all looked over. Ford stood in the entryway of the kitchen. 

“Howdy, Uncle Ford!” Emily chirped. “You just missed the big discussion about how I’m apparently half wolf.”

“No, you’d be a quarter wolf, if your mom was a werewolf,” Dipper corrected. “Werewolves are half wolf. Y’know, ‘wolf-man’. Half wolf, half man.”

“Ah, okay,” Emily said with a nod. “I’m apparently only 25% wolf.”

“Hmm. Very well, then,” Ford muttered, walking over to the fridge. He opened it and peered inside.

“Dad needs to go shoppin’, so there’s not much here,” Emily said. 

“Thank you for informing me,” Ford said. He walked back out of the kitchen. Emily frowned.

“What’s his deal?”

“He’s the author, he’s allowed to be eccentric,” Dipper said.

“I mean, most people in my fam’ly are a bit odd,” Emily said slowly. “But…” She shook her head. “Never mind. You two wanna go get Soos and play some squirt gun wars?”

“Yes!” Mabel cheered, jumping out of her chair. Dipper continued to look in the direction Ford had left.

“…Dipper?” Emily asked. Dipper looked back at her.

“Huh?”

“Squirt gun wars with Soos sound like fun?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. 

“Go get dressed, then, kidlets,” Emily said. Dipper and Mabel left the kitchen. Emily frowned thoughtfully. “Seems like Uncle Ford has a fan.” She began to clear the dishes from the table. “From what I’ve heard ‘bout him, that won’t end well.”

 

**August 14, 2012**

The front door of the Mystery Shack slammed open. 

“Here we go,” Wendy said quietly. A short, middle-aged woman stormed into the Gift Shop and came to a stop in front of Stan. Stan eyed her cautiously. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

“Aww,” Mabel cooed. Angie stroked Stan’s face.

“I missed ya,” she whispered. Stan smiled at her.

“Missed you too.” After a few moments of gazing lovingly at her husband, Angie promptly switched to glaring at him.

“You lied to me?!” she shouted. 

“There it is,” Stan muttered. Angie crossed her arms.

“You _lied_ , Stanley Pines. Fer _thirty years_. I ain’t pleased.”

“Look-”

“Ya didn’t just lie to me, even. Ya lied to everyone in yer entire fam’ly! Ya said Stanford was _dead_.”

“Yeah, it’s good news, the whole ‘him not actually being dead’ thing. Why aren’t ya happy?”

“Happy?!” Angie stood on her tiptoes again, to peer into his face easier. “I’m too upset with ya to be happy. I thought Ford was dead. We mourned. We accepted it. We moved on.”

“That’s what you want to hear,” Ford mumbled. Angie held up a hand, still glaring intensely at her husband.

“I’ll get to you in a minute, Stanford,” she snapped. “Stanley, I don’t want to sleep in the same bed as someone who lied fer longer than my two youngest children have been alive. Yer goin’ to spend a few nights on the couch, understand?” Stan glared at her. She met his gaze with hardened eyes. After a few tense moments, he finally sighed.

“Fine.”

“She _is_ a werewolf!” Mabel gasped. Angie blinked.

“What?” She turned around. “Oh, howdy, lil ones.”

“I was right, you are a werewolf!” Mabel said. Angie frowned. 

“What makes ya say that, sugar-cube?”

“Well, it just makes sense.”

“Is it ‘cause I told off my husband?”

“Basically,” Mabel said. Angie chuckled and crouched down to Mabel’s eye height.

“Aren’t you the charmer. No, I’m not a werewolf. The mailman, on the other hand…”

“I knew it!” Soos shouted from a room over.

“What’s yer name, cutie?” Angie asked.

“Mabel! And he’s my twin, Dipper!” Mabel said eagerly, grabbing Dipper, who made a small squeak. Angie beamed.

“Well then, looks like I’m yer Great-Aunt Angie!”

“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be,” Dipper said. Angie chuckled again. 

“I get that a lot. But I’m sorry ya had to see all that. I shouldn’t yell in front of kidlets. Ain’t right.”

“I don’t mind, Dr. Angie,” Wendy put in. “I kinda like it when you tear Mr. Pines a new one.” Mabel gasped suddenly, as an idea occurred to her.

“Can we call you Grangie?” she asked. Angie blinked.

“No,” she said flatly, “only my grandkids are allowed to call me that.” She winked at Mabel. “Ya can still call me yer Grauntie Angie, though. But most kids ‘round here just call me Dr. Angie, like Wendy does.”

“I’ll take it!” Mabel said. Angie grinned and stood up to her full height. She took a breath. “Stanford.” It was a statement, not a summons. Ford looked up. Angie stepped forward, her hands shaking, and twisting her wedding ring. “Ya- ya have to understand,” she said quietly and calmly, in a steady voice that belied her body language. “It’s like seein’ a ghost.” Angie’s hair had slightly faded, and had a couple silver streaks through it, but the only other sign that she had aged were the extensive laughter lines on her face. 

_She lived a good life, then._ The woman standing before him, waiting for him to speak, seemed different than the one he remembered. _And learned to be patient, apparently._

“Age mellowed you,” he said finally. Angie’s eyes widened. She laughed.

“Ya think I’m mellow? Did ya not just hear me yell at my husband?” Ford smiled half-heartedly.

“Point taken. By the way, I’m eager to meet the rest of your children. I’ve only become well acquainted with Emily,” Ford said. He looked down at his feet. “I also, uh…could you give me Fiddleford’s address?” He looked up again in time to watch Angie’s face break. “What?”

“Stan didn’t tell ya?”

“Tell me what?”

“About Fiddleford.” A heavy feeling, like he’d swallowed a brick of lead, settled in Ford’s stomach.

“What about Fiddleford?” Angie looked around.

“He- he don’t know ya no more,” she said quietly. Ford’s heart stopped.

“What? That’s- that’s-”

“Not true anymore,” Dipper put in. Angie and Ford looked over at their nephew. Dipper cleared his throat, slightly startled by unexpectedly being in the spotlight. “He’s- we figured out that he built the laptop in the bunker, and then we figured out that he founded the Blind Eye Society, and we found all his missing memories and-”

“Did ya tell Stan all this?” Angie interrupted. Dipper shook his head.

“No. He pretended like he didn’t even know Gravity Falls was supernaturally weird until after we almost got eaten by zombies.”

“Eaten by-” Angie looked over at Stan, who was grumpily buffing one of the snow globes. “Stanley, what on Earth happened?”

“Nothin’. They’re fine, aren’t they?” Stan said.

“Emily took pictures,” Mabel said. “I know because I asked her to send them to me.”

“Pictures of what?” Angie asked.

“Us fighting off zombies with the power of song!” Mabel enthused. Angie rubbed her forehead.

“Son of a-” She took a breath. “Stanley, what all have these children done this summer?”

“Heck if I know. They’re always gallivantin’ around, solvin’ mysteries or whatever,” Stan muttered.

“Ya don’t know what- yer supposed to be watchin’ ‘em!”

“Hey, do they have any bites or missin’ limbs? I did a fine job watchin’ ‘em!” Stan protested. Angie crossed her arms.

“I was hopin’ to hold off on the full argument fer a bit. But I don’t think I can. Bedroom. Now.” Angie looked over at Ford. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten ‘bout scoldin’ you, Stanford. Yer next.” With that, she followed Stan out of the Gift Shop. Wendy chuckled.

“Good luck with that, Stan Two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry this took so long! I've been busy with school and surgery and had zero inspiration for this masterpiece of a fic. But I'm back, finally. This chapter is pretty dang long, so hopefully that makes up for it a bit. The final chapter is also going to be longer than my chapters usually are, because I have a lot of loose ends to tie up and some questions I need to answer.  
> That being said, I am a bit concerned that I might not get to all the questions you guys may have. If you could comment with some of the questions I haven't answered in the fic yet, I will do my absolute best to get to them in the final chapter. I've got an upcoming scene that's a _lot_ of exposition, so I can slide it in all nice-like.  
>  Up next, the final chapter, titled "This is How the World Ends".   
> As always if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	16. This is How the World Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gsrh rh sld gsv dliow vmwh. Mlg drgs zm zklxzobkhv, yfg z xlmevihzgrlm.  
> Zmw rg xivzgvh z xszmxv gl hgzig levi.

**August 14, 2012**

Emily winced as the shouting from her parents’ bedroom reached new decibels. 

“I’ve never heard them fight like this before,” she said quietly. 

“I wanna know what they’re saying,” Mabel said. “But the last time Grunkle Stan caught me eavesdropping, he grounded me. And then he said that if he caught me again, he’d cut off my ears, so I couldn’t do it anymore. He _probably_ won’t do that, but I asked for some cute earrings for my birthday, so…”

“Ya don’t wanna risk it,” Emily finished. Mabel nodded. “I can try to listen, if ya want,” Emily offered. “It’s not like they can really ground me anymore.” Mabel beamed.

“Thanks!” 

“You got it, cuz.” Emily ruffled Mabel’s hair on her way to her parents’ bedroom. She pressed an ear against the door. 

“I’m not gonna apologize for protectin’ you. You and the kids,” Stan said firmly.

“Ya didn’t protect me! Ya lied to me!”

“Bullshit.” Stan’s short response was enough to stop Angie in her tracks. 

“Excuse me?”

“That’s bullshit. I protected you. I protected the kids. Do you have any clue what woulda happened if I hadn’t kept all of this a secret? Even with all the precautions I took, Bill _still_ almost got the house this summer.” Emily’s eyes widened.

_Dad knows about Bill? Did he overhear Uncle Ford talkin’ ‘bout him?_

“Who the _hell_ is Bill and what does he have to do with ya lyin’ to me fer thirty fuckin’ years?!” Emily’s jaw dropped. 

_I didn’t know Ma even knew real swear words._

“Bill’s the asshole demon that possessed Ford and pushed ya down the stairs thirty years ago,” Stan said.

_Wait, what? Bill hurt Ma?_

“All the more reason ya should’ve talked to me ‘bout this!” Angie said fiercely. “If Bill is such an evil, manipulatin’, powerful bein’, ya needed someone to help ya out.”

“Clearly, I didn’t,” Stan snapped. There was a long, drawn-out silence.

“Clearly,” Angie said in a subdued voice. 

“Angie,” Stan started. Emily could picture him moving toward her mother, reaching out his arms to comfort her. 

“Leave,” Angie said. Emily blinked.

_That’s not usually how fights end with them._

“…What?” Stan asked, like Emily, taken aback.

“Leave me be, Stanley Pines. I need some time to myself.”

“You just got back, though.”

“I know.” Emily winced at her mother’s choked-up voice. “I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be apart from ya. Yer not the only one with old issues resurfacing.” Stan said something so quietly that Emily couldn’t make out what it was. “Yes,” Angie said. “So ya can understand why it hurts me to send ya away. But- but we can’t sleep in the same bed tonight, Stan.” 

“…Fine.” There were footsteps. Emily moved away from the door just before it opened. Stan looked at his daughter. “Squirt, how many times do we have to tell ya not to eavesdrop?” he said tiredly, closing his bedroom door.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Emily protested.

“Kid.”

“Okay, maybe I was. But it was for a good cause!”

“Mabel asked ya?”

“Yeah, but I was gonna do it anyways.”

“Figures.” Stan took a seat on the floor in the hallway. Emily sat down next to him.

“Are ya sure you’ll be able to stand up again?” she asked. Stan sighed.

“Now’s not the time,” he said. Emily looked down.

“Sorry.”

“Not yer fault. Nope, it’s my fault. All of it.” Stan groaned. “This isn’t how today was supposed to go. The first day of seein’ yer ma in months, well, if I hadn’t messed up like this, there’s no _way_ we’d be spendin’ it in separate beds. Can’t really do what we planned on in-”

“Dad.”

“Right.” 

“It does suck, though,” Emily said. “You thought Ma would be happy to have Uncle Ford back, and that Uncle Ford would be happy to be back and wouldn’t punch ya. And ya didn’t think you’d be worried about yer twin stealin’ yer family from ya.” Stan looked at Emily, startled.

“What?”

“Dad, I was there. I was there durin’ yer _very questionable_ run for the mayor of Gravity Falls. I was there when ya started gettin’ worried over Uncle Ford and Dipper playin’ that weird graph paper game. The same one Danny ‘n Daisy like fer some reason. I’ve seen how nervous ya are that Mabel and Dipper like him better.”

“Damn. You’re too smart for yer own good, kiddo,” Stan said quietly. 

“I know.” Emily leaned against Stan. “Things’ll work out.”

“Ya keep sayin’ that.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s true. It’ll just take a while is all.”

“Don’t have much summer left fer that.”

“So?” Emily asked.

“Never mind.”

“No, tell me!”

“Nope. Help me up, will ya,” Stan said. Emily groaned.

“I guess.

 

**August 17, 2012**

There was a gentle knock on Ford’s door.

“Come in,” Ford said, concentrating on shaving. The door opened.

“Uh, Stanford, why are ya holdin’ a lighter so close to yer face?” Angie asked, staring at him.

“Hmm? Oh, I’ve found that this is much faster than traditional shaving.”

“And more dangerous,” Angie said. She took a few steps into the room and closed the door behind her. “Stanford, I didn’t get a chance to talk to ya yet. Between the jetlag and the…emotional roller coaster, I’ve been too exhausted. But I’ve gotten some rest, and feel refreshed. Which means we need to discuss what happened thirty years ago, and what’s happenin’ now.”

“Okay.” Angie took a seat on the couch and patted a spot next to her. Ford reluctantly joined her.

“Look, I’m glad to see ya. But you made one hell of a mistake back then,” Angie said shortly. “Fidds told ya not to get dark magic involved, but ya still made a deal with a demon, and just about all of us paid the price.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think Bill was-”

“Ya didn’t think a _literal demon_ was bad news? Stanford, yer supposed to be a genius. Act like it,” Angie snapped. Ford stared, surprised to hear such a cruel tone from her.  
“Ya don’t owe me an apology just fer makin’ a deal with Bill. Ya owe me an apology fer pushin’ me down those stairs. Ya put me in a coma. My arm was broken. I had to go through speech therapy ‘cause my stutter came back. And my fam’ly was put through hell worryin’ ‘bout me. Worryin’ ‘bout Fidds, and Stan, and you. Stanford, we were terrified fer you.” She sighed. “And then Stan told us that you were dead.”

“I know. I’m not very pleased with that.”

“Don’t matter whether yer pleased with that. Ya still owe some apologies. And ya need to thank Stan fer bringin’ you back. Emily told me ya never did that.”

“I’m not going to thank Stan for endangering the entire universe,” Ford snapped. “And I’m sick of your judgmental tone!” Angie glowered. Ford immediately regretted his words.

“Yer over fifty years old, Stanford Pines. So why are ya actin’ like a child? And I should know what a child acts like. I raised five of ‘em.”

“…Five?”

“Someone had to help Fidds with Tate. You left a mess behind, and instead of thankin’ folks fer cleanin’ it up, or apologizin’ fer makin’ it, yer lashing out at yer own damn fam’ly. My tone may be judgmental, but I’ve got good reasons to judge ya. I have no clue what is so broken between you and Stan that ya can’t even recognize what he did fer you. Was it perfect? No. But it was still an enormous undertaking.”

“I can’t thank someone who put my safety above others’.”

“That’s what Stan does,” Angie said softly. Ford looked down, her words connecting with the guilt he’d had in the back of his mind. Angie played with her hands. “Okay, I just have one thing left to say ‘fore I go hide from my husband some more.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to keep Dipper and Mabel away from the weirdness of Gravity Falls.” Ford stared at her, thinking about what Stan had told him.

“Why not?”

“They’re kids. They’ll mess with things ya tell ‘em not to.” Angie sighed. “Over thirty years of bein’ a dad, you’d think Stan would’ve figured that part out. But I prefer that you encourage them to look into things. To be curious. That way they know how to be safe ‘bout it. Stan was right, Gravity Falls _is_ dangerous. But only if ya don’t know what yer doin’. So show ‘em. But show ‘em how to be safe, too. No matter how difficult it is to break yer habit of throwin’ caution to the wind.” Angie smiled weakly. There was a hesitant knock. 

“Yes?” Ford said. Dipper opened the door. 

“Great-Uncle Ford, I was wondering if you had any research you wanted to do today. Mabel wants me to help plan our birthday party, so I thought I should check in first.” Dipper noticed Angie sitting next to Ford. “Oh, hi Grauntie Angie.”

“Howdy there, kidlet,” Angie said.

“Actually, Dipper, yes, I do have something I could use your assistance on,” Ford said. Dipper’s eyes widened eagerly.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Ford said. Angie patted Ford’s leg. 

“I’ll leave you two kooks to do yer research.” Once the door had closed, Dipper looked at Ford.

“So, what do you need me to help with?”

“You recall the containment for the rift, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s cracking.”

 

Emily hesitantly opened the door to her parents’ bedroom.

“Ma?” she said cautiously. Her mother looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

“Hey there, sweetling,” Angie said, putting her book to the side. Emily sat on the bed next to her. “What’s the reason fer ya stoppin’ by? Thought you were workin’ in the gift shop right now.”

“I had Wendy cover me fer a few minutes,” Emily replied. 

“That Corduroy girl is somethin’ else,” Angie said. 

“Yeah. Look, Ma, here’s the thing. Dad is- he’s really upset. Like, _really_ upset and-” A stormy expression gathered on Angie’s face. “-and that’s clearly not what I should be talkin’ about.”

“I know yer dad feels bad fer what he did,” Angie said slowly. “And he _should_.”

“I know! I know he should feel bad. But maybe give him a break?” Emily suggested. Angie shook her head.

“No,” Angie whispered in a broken voice. “No, I can’t. Not yet. He lied to me longer ‘n you’ve been alive.”

“Ma-” Emily started.

“Leave me alone,” Angie said suddenly.

“What?”

“Em, I need some time alone.”

“But-”

“Emily Marlene Pines, leave me be!” Angie snapped. Tears were standing in her eyes. Emily bit her lip.

“Sorry, Ma, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t, but I just can’t handle talkin’ ‘bout yer father right now,” Angie whispered. She rubbed her eyes. “Go, sweetie. I don’t want ya to see me cry like this.”

“Ma-”

“I mean it! Get goin’!” 

“O-okay,” Emily stammered. She stood up and walked over to the door. Before she left, she looked back at her mother. Angie’s head was in her hands, her shoulders shuddering from the force of her sobs. 

“Yer ma’s still angry, huh?” a voice asked, the second Emily had closed the door behind her. Emily spun around, startled. Stan was in the hallway, looking abashed. Emily rubbed her face.

“Dad, I think she’s beyond angry right now. Ya know how important tellin’ the truth is to her. _Everyone’s_ upset, including Mabel and-”

“Wait, Mabel’s still upset?” Stan interrupted.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I thought I talked her down.”

“Well, I saw her a few minutes ago and she was crying. And I was goin’ to ask Ma fer help, but I brought you up, and that pissed her off, so I had to leave ‘fore I could ask.” Stan frowned. Emily recognized the look. “What are you thinkin’ ‘bout?” Stan rubbed his chin.

“I’ve been wonderin’ if I should try that McGucket conflict resolution thing with Dipper and Mabel.”

“Is that the same thing you and Ma had me do with Daisy?”

“Yeah. It worked with me and Ford, and we were way past what Dipper and Mabel are dealin’ with, so it should work for them.” He sighed. “I’ve just been hopin’ that I wouldn’t need to, that they’d figure it out on their own.”

“Dad…”

“I know, I know. I shoulda tried to fix things sooner.” They heard the bell of the gift shop door jingle. Voices carried to where Stan and Emily were standing.

“Dipper and Uncle Ford are back,” Emily said quietly. She looked at her dad. “Now’s as good a time as any.” 

“Yer right. Go fetch Mabel, I’ll handle the nerds. A fam’ly discussion is long overdue.”

 

Soos walked into the living room, closely followed by Angie.

“I brought her, dudes,” Soos said, gesturing to Angie. She frowned. 

“Jesus, you weren’t serious about the salamander you claimed to have found, were ya?”

“…No,” Soos admitted. Angie sighed and took a seat on the floor.

“Fine. What’s goin’ on here? An intervention?”

“I think so,” Mabel said slowly. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying earlier. “But I don’t know what it’s about. I mean, after the last one, I stopped using glitter in everything I bake!”

“This isn’t about glitter,” Emily, who was standing near one of the exits, said. “It’s about how everyone in this house is upset, but no one’s doin’ anything ‘bout it. Ma’s avoiding Dad, Uncle Ford won’t explain whatever he’s doin’ in the basement, and I guess forgot how manners work, and now Dipper and Mabel are havin’ issues, too!” Angie looked at Dipper and Mabel, concerned.

“Is that true?” Angie asked. Mabel looked away. “What happened?”

“Ahem, _I’m_ the moderator,” Emily said. Angie raised her eyebrows. “…Ma. But anyways, yeah, Dipper and Mabel, go ahead and explain what happened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dipper said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah right, _apprentice_ ,” Mabel scoffed. Dipper stared at her.

“How do you know about that?”

“The walkie-talkies! Doy!”

“Wait, catch me up here,” Angie said, “Dipper’s an apprentice?”

“Great-Uncle Ford asked me if I wanted to be. I’d stay here in Gravity Falls and help him with his research,” Dipper explained. Angie crossed her arms and glared at Ford.

“He asked ya that, huh?”

“And Dipper agreed!” Mabel burst out. She sniffled. “He’s- he’s gonna stay, and I’m gonna leave, and-”

“But this is a huge opportunity for me,” Dipper said to Mabel. 

“It’s a _horrible_ opportunity for me!” Mabel shouted. “You’re- you’re supposed to be the person I can count on. I don’t wanna leave Gravity Falls behind, but- but when I thought you were gonna come back home with me, that was all right. Now you’re not? I- I don’t wanna grow up without you!”

“Hold on,” Angie interrupted. Mabel and Dipper looked at her, but she was still staring at Ford, clearly furious. “Stanford, ya didn’t consult _anyone_ about any of this.”

“I-” Ford started.

“If yer goin’ to ask a boy to leave his fam’ly behind, talk to ‘em first! I mean, I don’t think Caleb and Amelia would actually be comfortable with this. But now ya went and got his hopes up over somethin’ that, logistically, won’t happen.”

“Caleb and Amelia would be ecstatic, given my educational background and experience,” Ford said.

“Just ‘cause yer smart don’t mean ya make good decisions,” Angie snapped. Ford glowered.

“The boy needs space to develop his intellect! He’s been suffocating, tied down by a twin that he’s never been apart from!”

“Is that what you really think?” Mabel whispered. Dipper stared at his twin, devastated.

“No! I- I never said that, Mabel, I promise!”

“But you were gonna leave me.”

“I-” Dipper stopped. “I don’t want to,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I ever wanted to. I just got caught up in, y’know, the coolness of it all. Being an apprentice to the author of the journals. Saving the world and whatever. But I’d be spending my teen years cooped up in a basement, and without you. And I don’t want that.” Mabel smiled weakly at him.

“And Mom and Dad _would_ freak,” Mabel said.

“Yeah. They would,” Dipper said. “Awkward sibling hug?”

“Sincere sibling hug.”

“See, Mabel?” Stan said, watching the two embrace. “Like I told ya, you’ve got your brother with you. You’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine, too, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said confidently. She patted Dipper on the back twice and they broke apart. Stan smiled, but it was clearly insincere. 

“If you say so, kiddo.”

“Actually, Dad, that’s a really good segue,” Emily said. She looked at Dipper and Mabel. “You two can leave, if ya want.” 

“And miss out on all the juicy gossip? Please,” Mabel said, waving a hand. Dipper nodded.

“Yeah, like we’d leave of our own free will, when things are gonna start getting good?” Emily looked over at Stan.

“Dad, you can decide if they stay or not. It’s yer business that we’re dealin’ with next.”

“Great,” Stan muttered. He sighed. “They can stay. They’d eavesdrop even if we kicked ‘em out.”

“You know it!” Mabel chirped. Stan cracked a half-smile.

“All right, then. Onto Dad’s issues,” Emily said. Stan closed his eyes with a groan. “Who wants to go first, Ma or Uncle Ford?”

“Ladies first,” Ford said, gesturing towards Angie. Angie frowned.

“Sure, yer quite the gentleman when yer tryin’ to avoid talkin’ ‘bout yer feelin’s,” she said snidely. “You Pines folk ‘re all stunted emotionally, I swear.”

“Ma,” Emily intervened. Angie sighed.

“Guess I’m up first. Stan, ya did the wrong thing fer the right reason. But I can take care of myself. I don’t need unsolicited protection.”

“I know,” Stan said. “But when ya were comatose in a hospital bed, or gettin’ frustrated over how slow yer speech therapy was goin’, really didn’t seem that way.”

“The lyin’ went on past that,” Angie replied.

“Yeah. It did. I’m sorry, Angie.”

“This is the sort of thing married folks aren’t supposed to have. Secrets that go on fer thirty years. Is it any wonder I have issues lookin’ ya in the eye?” Angie asked, her voice breaking. “Is it any wonder I can’t hardly be in the same room as ya? All that time, all that time spent together, happy, raisin’ our kids. Now those good memories are- are poisoned. ‘Cause you were lyin’ durin’ ‘em.” Angie bit her lip and looked away. “Sometimes…sometimes I wondered if ya were cheatin’ on me.”

“What? Angie, I would never-”

“Cheat? But how can I trust ya ‘bout that now, knowing yer lies?” Angie shook her head. “Maybe the blame’s on me, too, though. I ain’t blind. I knew somethin’ was happenin’. I knew there was a reason you were runnin’ yourself more ragged than usual, that there was a reason ya suddenly developed an interest in what Stanford was workin’ on, that there was a reason ya had us move into yer dead twin’s house, and start up, of all things, a tourist trap. I told myself you were just grievin’ in yer own way. But I knew there was more, and if I hadn’t been too scared to actually figure out what else was goin’ on, maybe- maybe we wouldn’t be in such a rough spot right now.” Angie finished her speech with a decrescendo, getting quieter as she neared the end, until the last few words were almost a whisper.

“Angie, when we got married, you said there wasn’t anything that could make you leave me,” Stan said. He swallowed. “Is that still true?” Angie looked down.

“It hurt every day I was in Maine,” she said softly, after a pause that was far too long for Stan’s liking. “But not from old age. From missin’ you. I’m furious ‘bout all of this. But I love you and the life we built together more ‘n I’m angry.” She looked up, and there were tears standing in her blue eyes. Eyes that still had the same brilliance Stan had first seen forty-one years ago. “Stanley Pines, I can’t think of a single thing that would make me leave.” Stan smiled weakly at her. “Even with the lyin’, and my nightmares comin’ back, and everything feelin’ like it’s fallin’ apart, I- I can’t get over how much I love ya. I ain’t leavin’. I ain’t plannin’ on _ever_ leavin’.”

“I’m sorry that I dragged us into this mess,” Stan said. 

“It- it is what it is, I s’pose. All’s we can do now is try to move forward. Work on the trust stuff a bit more.” Angie and Stan shared a tentative smile. Ford, who was standing near the tank Angie kept her favorite amphibians in, frowned.

“Nightmares?” Ford asked.

“Nothin’ to write home ‘bout, I don’t think. Had ‘em a bit ‘fore Stan showed up at the farm, had ‘em a bit ‘fore _you_ showed up at the farm, and they started up again while I was doin’ research in Maine this summer.” Angie shrugged. “But they stopped when I got back. Put me in an awful mood fer Stan tellin’ me he got you home, though. I was so exhausted and frustrated, even without the nasty things I was dreamin’. With all of it together, I almost didn’t come home.”

“Shi- shoot, Angie, if you didn’t come home,” Stan said, “I…I don’t know what I’d do. Send the kids home? Kick Ford’s a- butt for bein’ the reason?”

“Mm. Prob’ly both, knowin’ you,” Angie said. She suddenly registered the concerned look she was getting from everyone else in the room, other than her husband. “Wh- what’s the problem?”

“Bill has the ability to cause nightmares,” Ford said. 

“So? The human psyche can make ‘em, too,” Angie said. Ford nodded.

“Yes, but the timing seems odd. Your nightmares tend to have surges at crucial points. Stan arriving at your house, and therefore not becoming a homeless criminal. Stan and I meeting at your house, and therefore patching things up before we became too distant. Stan telling you that I’m back, and therefore we can put a stop to Bill’s insanity once and for all.”

“When yer stressed-” Angie started.

“We set somethin’ up around the house,” Emily interrupted. “It keeps Bill’s influence out. He can’t peek into any minds here, can’t cause any nightmares. And yer nightmares stopped when ya came back.” Angie was silent.

“Violynn said that yer nightmares got so bad the first time, that yer folks almost didn’t leave,” Stan said quietly. Angie looked at him. “If yer folks didn’t leave when they did, they wouldn’t have found me. And the second time, they talked about not lettin’ Ford come over. And now…”

“…Now I almost broke yer heart, which would’ve ruined everything else,” Angie whispered.

“If Stan and I got in a physical altercation, or the kids went home, Bill would have found it much easier to gain access to the rift,” Ford said. “Frustration, anger…those emotions are ones Bill relies on. He can finetune righteous fury until it fits his own perverted needs.” Angie put her head in her hands.

“I have a million questions,” Angie said quietly, “the first one bein’ what ‘the rift’ is. But- I don’t think I’m ready fer the answer right now. I thought it was bad enough, that demon puttin’ me in a coma. But playin’ with my mind? I-”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Dipper said firmly. Angie nodded.

“Sure does, kiddo.” After a long pause, Emily cleared her throat.

“So…Dad and Uncle Ford?”

“Are we seriously still doin’ this?” Stan demanded.

“Yes.”

“It’s been a long day, I think we could use a break,” Ford said.

“Nuh-uh. If we stop now, we won’t ever finish,” Emily said, shaking her head. “So. Dad and Uncle Ford. Talk.”

“Ford, up yours.”

“What?!” Ford said.

“Dad. Not helpful.”

“Fine. Ford, thirty years ago, ya asked me to abandon my fam’ly, to save yer skin. Sure, that fight might’ve ended in me pushin’ you through the portal. But it never woulda gotten that far if you didn’t put your own bullsh- crap above everyone else,” Stan snarled. Ford glowered.

“I put _my_ problems above others’? Stanley, you were willing to risk the universe’s safety for your family, and then later, for me!”

“I did what ya asked me to!” Stan snapped. “You asked me to help you. I did it. And after thirty years of breakin’ my back to do what ya told me to do, we won’t even talk! Goddam- gosh dangit, Ford, I thought we were past this!”

“So did I!” Ford shouted. Dipper and Mabel exchanged a wide-eyed look. “So did I,” Ford said, in a more reasonable tone. He ran a hand through his hair. “Why do we keep having this argument, over and over again?”

“‘Cause whenever ya have problems, it always happens at the worst time,” Angie suggested.

“Ma, yer not allowed to contribute,” Emily said. Angie rolled her eyes.

“No, that- that sounds right,” Ford said. “Maybe we are emotionally stunted, unable to talk things out, until it builds and builds, and the only possible result is explosive.”

“Does that mean yer gonna thank me?” Stan asked.

“Only if you apologize to me,” Ford replied. Stan frowned thoughtfully.

“I’ll think about it. But no matter what, I ain’t apologizin’ in front of the kids. They’ll think I’m soft.”

“You already said sorry to Grauntie Angie about ten times,” Dipper said.

“Eh. That’s different.” 

“Are we done?” Ford asked Emily. Emily nodded.

“Actually, yeah. Huh, and it took less time than me and Daisy did.”

“Stanford, what is the rift?” Angie asked suddenly.

“Essentially, it’s a rip in the fabric of the universe, a portal of sorts between our dimension and that of Bill’s. It was created by Stanley turning on the portal,” Ford explained.

“The big problem,” Dipper jumped in. He stopped and looked at Ford, who nodded. “The big problem is that Bill can come through it if it gets too big. So Great-Uncle Ford sealed it in a snow globe.”

“The containment device is more durable than a snow globe, but continue,” Ford said.

“But now, the containment device or snow globe or whatever it is, is cracking.”

“Which means that the rift isn’t actually contained,” Angie said slowly.

“Yes. Dipper and I went to the UFO site today, to find alien adhesive to seal the containment device shut,” Ford said.

“Seems like yer tryin’ to put a bandaid over a gunshot wound,” Angie said. “That ain’t goin’ to work in the long run!”

“I just needed to buy some time, until I find a better solution,” Ford said. 

“Didn’t you meet anyone in other dimensions who might be able to help out?” Emily asked. Ford paused.

“Actually, yes. But Jheselbraum is busy, and I don’t have a way of visiting her dimension.”

“Does she have a cellphone?” Mabel asked. “You could call her.” Ford rubbed his chin.

“No, she doesn’t have a cellphone…but you’re right. I _could_ call her. Through other means, of course.”

“Great! And now that all the end of the world things are taken care of, we can _finally_ start planning the birthday party!” Mabel said enthusiastically. Angie chuckled.

“You really have a one-track mind, don’t ya, darlin’?”

 

**September 2, 2012**

Ford stood on the porch of his house, if it could be called that anymore, given the discussions that were going on about the Mystery Shack’s future.

_“I can’t live here anymore,” Ford said abruptly, the night of the “intervention”. He, Stan, and Angie were enjoying some much needed alcoholic beverages._

_“Why not?” Stan asked._

_“It’s just changed so much. It’s not the same place I left. Even if I wanted to live in a house that also functions as a tourist trap, I can’t do that if it doesn’t feel like home.”_

_“Then where will ya go?” Angie asked, idly stirring her rum and coke._

_“Not sure. Unless…maybe I could get the_ Stan O’War _up and running.”_

_“What?” Stan said. “You- you wanna go on an ocean adventure?”_

_“Yes. I think it would be a nice break from all of the…”_

_“Drama,” Angie suggested._

_“Bullshit,” Stan said._

_“Well, yes, this summer has been full of both of those things.” Ford looked down at his glass tumbler. “But I don’t think I could crew her on my own.” Stan was silent. “I don’t want to take you from your family, Stan-”_

_“My kids are all grown up, Angie’s busy findin’ evolutionary missing links. All I do is sit around, bein’ old,” Stan said. He grinned. “Finally doin’ a trip on the_ Stan O’War _sounds pretty great to me, Sixer.”_

 _“You two_ could _use some bondin’ time,” Angie added. “So’s long as ya don’t disappear off the face of the earth, I think I can handle bein’ apart from Stan fer a few months. Done it before.” She looked at Stan. “But the two of ya wouldn’t be able to leave fer a bit, y’know.”_

_“Oh, yeah, there’s a thing. The whole fam’ly’s goin’. I can’t go until after it.”_

_“That’s fine. The extra time will be useful. I can put some affairs in order, adjust the ship to be suited for my research, et cetera,” Ford said._

_“Or you could come to the party,” Angie suggested. Ford blinked._

_“Um, I don’t know how wise that would be. I don’t even know what it’s for.”_

_“A birthday. Yer welcome to come,” Angie said. She picked up on his hesitation. “But you can think about it a bit ‘fore ya make up yer mind.”_

_“Geez, Angie, what do ya take us for? People who think before doin’ things?” Stan asked sarcastically._

_“Clearly ya aren’t, since ya haven’t discussed what you’ll do with the Mystery Shack.”_

_“Shut it down, obviously,” Stan said. Angie stared at him, aghast._

_“And break poor Jesus’s heart like that?”_

_“Why do ya call him by his full name?”_

_“Why do ya not realize how much this dumb ole place means to him?” Angie retorted. Stan sighed._

_“Like always, you have a point. Soos is a good kid. He shouldn’t have to watch the Shack shut down.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Hmm. I bet the Mr. Mystery suit would look good on him.” Angie smiled._

_“That’s more like it.”_

Ford shook himself out of his memories and watched his twin load up the Stanleymobile. Emily tossed Stan a large duffel bag. Stan caught it, but stumbled slightly under the weight and force of the throw. Ford smiled as Emily laughed.

“Yer losin’ yer touch, old man,” Emily said teasingly. Stan rolled his eyes and stuffed the duffel bag into the trunk.

“I’m just goin’ easy on ya. What with you bein’ my daughter and all,” Stan said. Emily snorted.

“Sure, Dad.” Ford heard the front door open. Angie walked past with another bag of luggage. 

“Geez, how much crap do you guys have?” Stan asked. Angie went over to her husband.

“This is yer stuff, darlin’. And it’s the last of it.” Stan took the bag from her and put it in the car, then closed the trunk. “All right, you two, we ain’t stoppin’ fer a while. Bathroom break now or hold it,” Angie said briskly. Emily shook her head.

“I’m good, Ma.”

“Then let’s load up,” Angie said. Stan opened the door of the Stanleymobile for her, eliciting a laugh. Angie kissed him on the cheek before getting into the back seat. Emily joined her mother. Stan closed the door.

“So, where are you headed, again?” Ford asked.

“We’re gonna stop by San Diego to pick up Emmett, and then go to the farm,” Stan replied. “The whole fam’ly’s gonna be there to celebrate the triplets’ birthday.” He looked at Ford. “Includin’ Fidds, Tate, and Tate’s kids. You made up yer mind about comin’?” Ford rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. On the one hand, he was eager to see his son and grandchildren. On the other, it had been thirty years. 

_The McGuckets probably wouldn’t want to see me._

“You probably need the extra space for Fiddleford,” Ford said. Stan shook his head.

“Nah. Fidds headed out yesterday,” Stan said. Angie rolled down the car window.

“I didn’t sit in the back seat fer nothin’, Stanford!” she shouted teasingly. Ford cracked a small smile.

“I really don’t know if I should intrude…”

“Intrude? Ford, it’s pretty damn difficult to crash a fam’ly gatherin’ if yer fam’ly,” Stan said. “Seriously. Ya comin’?” Ford looked at his house.

_I don’t think I can call it that anymore._ He looked back at his twin, his sister-in-law, and his niece. His smile grew broader. 

“…Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the saga of the Stanley McGucket AU is over! I may occasionally post little drabbles in the "Stanley McGucket Bonus Stories" section, but you can consider the overarching plot and story of this AU done. Feel free to imagine yourselves how things play out from there, like how Stan and Ford's adventures in the arctic differ from canon, or how well it goes the first time Ford meets his grandchildren.  
> ...Or if you want _my_ thoughts on those situations, feel free to shoot me an ask at my Tumblr account.  
>  Even though this AU is effectively ending, I've got some other stuff in the works, like superhero, de-aging, and of course, my fic with Stan as a stay-at-home dad.  
> But anyways, thank you guys so much! This has been such a wonderful AU and series to work on, made far more enjoyable by the support I've gotten. I never thought people would like my nonsense this much, and it means a lot to me that so many people actually did. I love you all!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


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